


The Belletrist

by JD_Riley



Series: Victorian A/B/O [14]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Childhood Trauma, Erotic Literature, Erotica, F/M, Graphic Description of Childhood Rape, Inappropriate Erections, Light Incest Fantasy, MaleOmega, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Verse, Omegaverse, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Sexual Fantasy, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Uncle/Niece Incest, Underage Sex, femalpha, tearful confessions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24221374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JD_Riley/pseuds/JD_Riley
Summary: Finn Harborel is on the verge of war. Grappling with a childhood rife with rape and abuse perpetrated by an uncle obsessed with erotic fiction, Finn's goal in adulthood is to purge London of the material utilized to harm him and his twin sister as a child. A talented essayist, he has written dozens of articles on morality, the danger of bawdy novels, and the sinister presence of a man who seems to be the epicenter of London's erotic literature scene—a mysterious figure they call “The Librarian.”As an Alpha in line for the title of Viscount, Honor Blackwell has never found it difficult to live up to her name. When a very determined Omega discovers her unusual hobby of running a small private printing operation in order to ask her help to print his articles, she's shocked to find out his purpose. He seeks to purge London of pornography and unmask the man responsible for the proliferation of erotica throughout the city. He seeks to expose none other thanHonor herself.
Relationships: Honor Blackwell/Phineas Harborel
Series: Victorian A/B/O [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/695802
Comments: 109
Kudos: 123





	1. Chapter 1

Finn thought that the course of his emotions were much like a river and he was merely the poor soul on a raft floating upon it. The river wound a bit, sometimes shallow and sometimes deep. Every so often there was a section of rocks and differences in elevation that made the normally tranquil waters choppy and difficult. Sometimes there were places where everything was murky and strange. Sometimes there was a misting fog and a dark roar which overcame him and he knew that he was headed for a precipice which would send him careening into the plunge pool at the bottom. The force of his emotions would pound above him and cycle him underneath their twisting depths until he thought himself utterly drowned by them. And eventually...he would be released...and he would find his raft again. And again he would be helpless to the flow, trapped within this cycle of harm and set upon an endless eternity of shame.

He could feel the mist around him. He could hear the roar of the waterfall so close. But he couldn't stop. He'd rucked up his night clothes and he'd tented his sheets with his knees, his fist around his throbbing manhood. He was so close. The fantasy in his mind was most always the same though it had small differences that he was keen to note.

_He was a boy. No older than seven. He remembered how small he was and how small he felt. He struggled but he did not cry at first. He was called good. He was given small pieces of chocolate while his little trousers were stripped off of him and a big warm hand reached beneath his drawers between his legs._

Finn could feel sweat forming on his face as he squeezed at himself and held back his climax, his breaths tight and his heart steadying until he chose to stroke himself again, building up his pleasure while the fantasy rolled on in his mind.

_Two fingers, soft and slick, tugging his small, boyish cock into arousal, creating a heat in his belly that made his breath catch. He couldn't eat any more chocolate. There was something happening to him. Something he did not like one bit. A wrongness filled him before whispering words came to his ear and he was made to hold a book._

_“Read to me, Finny. Read me this story.”_

Small, soft sounds began to escape him as he gave himself lingering strokes and he felt the first oozing of come pearl at his tip. “ _Hunnnh...unnnh..._ ”

_The book had words in it that he didn't know. He tried them anyhow and he was told that he was good. So good. He didn't know what he was reading but he knew he could not stop. His uncle would not like it. His voice trembled when he read on and he felt his uncle's fingers tug on him harder and then press him back until something big and thick was pressed hotly against his rump, slotted right against him. He was rocked gently forward and backward as he continued to read, the Alpha's hot breath on his tiny ear as the fingers which held his genitals grew a little too tight._

Finn came with a startled little cry, warm come splashing over his stomach as he tensed and released in jerking waves of orgasm, his breaths hitching until he was finished and the night collapsed around him. It was as though someone had reached inside him through his chest and pulled his heart out. He felt cold and empty and disgusting. Pleasure still tingled in his softening cock and in his tight little sack but the hollow emotions that pounded him down beneath the water kept the breath from his lungs and he floundered.

It was all he could do to close his thighs and shift to his side, letting hot tears slide from his cheeks and soak into the bedding while he sobbed. Pathetic. Disgusting. Deplorable. _Impure._

Sooner or later he would find his raft again. Sooner or later he would be able to breathe and he would crawl up from the pool of roiling shame and he would somehow find a way to look another person in the eyes again. Though sometimes, he thought, one day he would not recover. One day he would lay in his soiled bedsheets and he would expire from the shame. One could die from shame, could they not?

_Why do I think this way? Why is this the only fantasy which comes to haunt me? Why can I not think of anything else? Why am I so compelled to touch myself?_

He'd tried his very best to create a different fantasy. One in which he was with boys his own age. He'd been tied down during his first heat and it had been so horrifyingly awful that as soon as it was over, as soon as everyone had left him alone, he had furiously touched himself, drawing out climax after climax with the only fantasy that he could conjure that he knew without a shadow of a doubt would sate that ravenous hunger. It didn't have to be his uncle. It didn't have to be anyone specific. Just an Alpha much older...touching him. _Destroying him_.

He lay wallowing in his shame and disgust for himself, weeping softly until he found the strength to ease over to the side of his bed. He wiped himself off with part of his sheet and then put his feet to the carpet. Donning his night robe, he tied it too tight around his slim waist and shuffled his bare feet to the door. No one was awake at this hour and so he exited into the hall, finding it cold and drafty.

The house was always somewhat too-big, he thought. He'd always thought that. From the time he and Pearl had come here, he had thought the house was a grand and gaudy bit of splendor. His aunt and uncle had been much wealthier than their parents and he was supposed to be grateful for having their mercy laid upon them enough to take them in and provide for them. But what cost had come to his peace of mind for the event having occurred? Should he had been better off starving in the gutter?

_His hands all over me. His body crushing me as I lay on the floor. My mouth forming around difficult words and unnatural concepts._

Finn paused, bringing his arms up to hug himself as more tears flowed freely down his cheeks. It was as though he were constantly trapped in a terrible dream, one that would not even leave him alone in his waking hours. How could this be? How could he be so haunted by this nightmare which had plagued the whole of his youth?

When his uncle had died, he'd thought it was over. The pain was gone forever, surely—but it was only the beginning. Every episode of terror and pleasure and confusing mixtures of pain and euphoria had been burned into his mind by the white-hot iron of his touch. It was much too complicated to have left him with death and now he feared that perhaps it would not even leave him with his own.

_If I knew that it would, perhaps I would have thrown myself from the balcony before now...but that will only leave my tortured ghost._

He made it to the kitchen and placed the kettle on the stove to make himself some tea. He sat in the cold and the dark, still holding himself while his toes slowly lost their feeling from the ice of the stone floor. The singular maid, Carla, would not be up until a few hours from now and Finn had brewed his own tea in the middle of the night many, many times. The stench of a grieved Omega was all around him and he sat muddling about nothing, bubbles of incoherent thought floating and popping through his mind until he could hear the water boiling.

His tea he always took in the drawing-room and he sat there now, a knitted afghan over his lap with his feet tucked up beside him on one of the overstuffed chairs while he stared out the large window toward the foggy London street and the greenish glow of the gas lamp where it stood just outside the gate.

“Finn?” Her voice was soft and sounded so far away though she was only by the door, her soft blonde hair in a cascade over one of her shoulders and her eyes so limpid and beautiful, shining in the darkness.

“It's alright, Pip,” he told her. Pearl was always worried for him and he knew it was something to do with being twins. It was as though sometimes they could feel each others' emotions, the good and the bad, and the uniquely painful. She was holding her hand over her heart. “I swear to you, Pip...I'm alright...”

“Another dream?”

It was a lie and he suspected she knew that it was. “Yes.” He focused on his fingers picking at the fibers of the afghan. “Pearl...how do you...”

She came toward him, pulling a chair near to his and gathering a quilt from the settee, settling herself down with the quilt wrapped around her. She stared at him, her eyes wide and alert to him.

“He hurt you too...but you don't have the same dreams I do. You don't think about it as much, do you?”

She looked out toward the street and the lamp. “I think about it. Often, I would say.”

Finn sipped his tea, finding his hands still shaking but not as much as they were before. Pearl had a way of calming him just with her presence. “Do you dream of it?”

“Yes...sometimes when I am awake.”

He let go of a single sob. “Pip...I cannot know how I could allow an Alpha into my life. I cannot know how I will survive being parted from you...and being...touched again...”

Pearl licked her lips and then shifted to get up, pouring herself a cup of tea and then sitting back down. Her scent was so sweet and so calm that he could not imagine her being tortured by this at all. She admitted to him often that she was harmed by their uncle and he had seen her weep—her lashes wet and clumped by her tears—but she was never so ravaged by memory as he was. “I hope that one day I will find a mate who will hold me gently,” she said, her voice soft and quiet and soothing. “They might care for me and treat me well and kiss me softly in different ways and maybe I won't be reminded of what happened to me...but maybe I will be. I cannot know if there will be any escape. But I will never know if I do not marry.”

Finn wiped at his cheeks. “He stole so much from us...”

Pearl's eyes were moving back and forth as she searched for something to say and when she did reply, it was confusing and odd. “I suppose then that we must steal it back.”

He wasn't certain what he could respond with and so he didn't, sipping his tea again until it was gone. He couldn't tell her of his secret project. The one he had been working on tirelessly over the last few months. The project that perhaps might let him sleep better in the night. They sat together until the sun was shining through the panes and he could feel the tiredness in his eyes again. There was no relief for them. They would be taken to the park and to small dinner parties. They would be shown off to Alphas of all kinds and they would have to remember all the terrible conventions of society.

Though their aunt had plenty of money, they were not rubbing elbows with royals or nobility and the most prominent of men they'd encountered were usually men of business or officers with the regiments. Finn had tried, to no avail, to find an Alpha who might have had access to printing so that he might have a method by which to print his articles. He'd sent them anonymously to a paper or two under a false name but only one had been published and it was hidden in the back page and clipped so disastrously that it had lost all of its original impact. No Alpha, it seemed as yet, could help him create his own leaflets and should he find one, he would then have to determine how to spread them. It was not as though he had a small army by which to do it and so it would all be up to him.

Pearl was snoozing, her head lolled to the side against the wing of the chair while the sunlight played over her face.

Finn's heart felt weighted and empty, his body dirty and misused.

_I don't want to feel like this. I don't want anyone to feel like this._

He stared at Pearl, at her face so soft and so sweet. They looked so similar that should he have grown his hair, they might have been indistinguishable save perhaps the very slight masculine cut of his jaw and the very small swell of her breasts. He wanted to protect her. The morning after the day of his uncle's funeral, he had found the disgusting literature the man had always forced him to read and he had buried the terrible thing deep in the woods of the country house. Somewhere the worms could eat it and the earth could take it away and let it rot. But even for all that, he was reminded of it. He could remember the words that had gone along with the stripping of his innocence and he thought of them when he snaked his hand under his drawers. He'd even had the thought late in the night that he would like to see it once more. That he would like to read it and remember the prick of pleasure that came from how it slithered through his mind. He'd been so tempted once that he had stood in the garden on a warm summer's evening under the light of the silver moon, staring at the deep dark of the wood.

It was gone. And he wished that all of it might be gone. But he knew that there was an underbelly to London—a scourge of written lewdness that was never spoken of in polite circles around decent Omegas. He'd caught small bits of conversation as he stood in hallways and eavesdropped. He'd written down the names of gentlemen who he suspected knew of such things and he had gently prodded them but they had yet to divulge any secrets. So he wrote his articles and he sought to have them published but it was difficult though he dared not give it up. He would fight against obscenity as hard as he could—and he would, despite his position and dynamic, purge every ounce of these texts and these persons he could find.

The most Finn had ever discovered was that the man who seemed to know everything about the trade of erotic literature and the flow of disgusting material through the complicated web of rumor and tales was a man without a name. This man was Finn's enemy though he did not know it yet. This was the man who, should Finn find success, would be unmasked to the world for the filthy degenerate he was. This was the man he was determined to transform into a pariah.

This was a man they called _The Librarian._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this my "Ode to Fanpol." This story will be updated when I feel like it with no solid schedule. If you hate it, make sure you tell me so I can actively not give a shit.


	2. Chapter 2

Honor Blackwell was surrounded by curious Betas, their heads all crowded around her while one of them held up a mirrored lantern and the rest simply gawked and sweated nervously. She squinted into the bowels of the massive singular press which sat in the approximate center of the room at 754 Thayer Street in Westminster, London. Her brows were tight together and the smell of oil and ink was filling her nose along with the anxious scents of all of her small staff mixing together. She sighed, looking around herself at all of them before she cleared her throat.

“Must you all crowd me so?”

“Well pardon, Miss Blackwell, but if she's not a'goin' then we're not a'workin!” Oscar Billsby replied, the Beta about sixteen and just barely growing the scruff of a beard which he rubbed on the back of his fingers as though he were much too proud of it.

Her knees hurt from all the kneeling she did while trying to figure out exactly what was getting this damned press stuck and jittering. Her black hair was tightly woven around her head in milkmaid's braids which left only the barest wisps by her ears which never did seem to stay tucked. Though she liked her hair long, it was a damned pain in the neck when one was working around this piece of junk printing press which would rather eat your finger or your hair than the paper it was meant to print! The light shined over something just then and she held her hand up to the bottom of the lantern to focus it.

“ _ Ah hah! _ ”

“Found something, Miss Alpha?” This from the boy who held the lantern, a very small Beta by the name of Charlie who was nineteen and very likely to present as an Omega.

Honor picked up her long thin metal rod she kept just for occasions such as this and poked it into the machine. It had taken her a long time to perfect the usage of this big, hulking press but Richard Hoe had truly done well with the design despite its foibles. Something that worked so quickly was bound to get jammed up every so often. She plucked at the stuck little piece of metal and when it was free, she made certain that it could move about without interference before she barked out her order.

“Another thirty copies, Oscar. That's all we need. If she can belt them out, she'll do it in a few seconds and then we can work on binding and reset the type for the next one.”

It was much easier now. With this new web press, the pages were already cut and even folded so that they could be threaded together relatively easily. The Betas were all very practiced by now and earned every cent of their pay as they worked alongside her in binding together anything from small leaflets to whole novels. She paid them handsomely, as the small numbers of her products were in high demand and those who sought them would pay quite a bit to obtain them for collections. After all, they were not something a normal printer would produce and certainly not someone whose whole life and well being rested upon their ability to print.

The press spun into action, loudly whirring the miles-long roll of paper suspended above it as it fed through the machinery at a pace described by many as  _ lightning. _ It did not stick or jitter again and she smiled at its progress, content when it wound down again and the pages were all properly cut and folded in the bin where they exited the machine.

“Alright, you little blokes—we've got a few hours left in the day and it's just enough time to get a little bit of this done. If we can get them all sorted and get a few of them sewn then I'll pay you extra for your suppers tonight, how's that?” She grinned at them when they cheered and then got to work with them, the art of printing far more work intensive than merely watching paper move through the press. She only had two Smyth sewing machines but it was all she needed with the very capable Betas on their jobs. They pressed, sewed, and bound in a machine comprised of human flesh and so in no time plenty of the job was done and upon the morn they could come in and reset the print for the next run.

When everything was put together and all the shavings of paper were swept up from the floor, they stood around her near the door like chicks around their very tall mother hen and she handed them their extra pay for the day, telling each of them how very much she appreciated them as she did so. They happily thanked her as they each left, running off down the street in their coats with their money tightly fisted in their hands and their grins ear-to-ear. Charlie was the last one and as always, he gave her a tight hug around the middle and this time she paused him with a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back and leaning a little so she could look at him properly.

“You're smelling a little sweet, Charlie.” She pressed the backs of her fingers to his forehead under his messy bangs. “You don't feel hot, do you?”

“Not right this minute, Miss Blackwell but...do ya think?”

She leaned toward him again, her nose just above his hair. “I would bet. Perhaps you take off for little while and when you're feeling back to rights, you come right back in, alright?”

His eyes swam. “You mean you'll let me?”

“There's no reason presenting would prevent a boy with your skills from using them, is there? I don't think your Pa would mind much if I kept paying you. Do you not think?”

Charlie surged forward and hugged her again tight around her middle. “Oh, no, Alpha! And I'd sure be helpful, I swear to ya! I don't have no other place I'd rather be, I promise!”

“That's a good boy, now run along and don't let any Alphas catch your scent on the way. Go straight home, do you hear me?” As an added measure, she made certain to rub her wrists on his neck and shoulders, thoroughly covering him with a protective scent that would likely keep any wayward strays from his tail.

“Yes, Alpha! Thank you, Alpha!”

She watched him run off with her hands on her hips and when he was around the bend, she turned back to the shop and made sure that everything was to rights before she locked up and left. Covered in bit of paper and the sweet scent of an almost-Omega, she hailed a hack and rode to her father's house in town where she found at least one gentleman waiting in her parlor for her.

“Lord Iverret, what are you doing here?”

He was younger than she but only by just a little and he was grinning bashfully, his Alpha scent sticky and fresh as he reached into his pocket and produced a small novel. “I thought I ought to give this back to you, Alpha, and mayhap ask if you might spare another. My little mate is very curious of what I might try with her next and I've got to get a few good ideas before I go home tonight. She's been quite demanding of late.”

Honor beamed back at him, her smile bright and infectious as it was reflected in Iverret's own expression. She plucked the book out of his hand and inspected it, finding it whole and in good condition upon its return. “Oh? Demanding? You know what they say about that. Should we be expecting any grand announcements?”

“I am hoping so.” His scent fluffed with a tang of pride. “She's the most loving little thing. I'm so grateful your mother facilitated our meeting...I couldn't think of myself with a more wonderful mate. You'll thank her again for me, will you?”

“Of course I will. My mother will be overjoyed to know that you might have an announcement to make soon.”

“She will be the very first to know...or the second depending upon if I see you first. I think your contributions to our marriage bed might have gone further in producing such an outcome...” He laughed, the whole of his countenance joyful.

Honor waved the book. “I'll put this one back and I'll get you the newest, if you'd like it. It's very saucy and I think your Lady will love it.”

“Will she? You know I daresay I think that last one might have been written by a woman...”

“And this one was no doubt written by an  _ Omega _ ,” Honor teased.

“An Omega? How charming...but how can you tell?”

“It is in the language. The  _ art _ ,” she provided easily, heading for the door. She passed him a little wink and went to her library where a large wood and glass cabinet stood in the corner which held only a small fraction of her father's massive collection. The rest of the numerous volumes of erotica and pornography was amassed in a secretive room at the country estate. With a small brass key she kept hidden among the stacks of books elsewhere in the room, she unlocked the case and pulled out the catalog in which she kept a log of which book was loaned out to which person—every individual marked with only small symbols which corresponded to a leaflet of a key which was kept inside one of the voluminous tomes. She marked that it had returned and then marked another of her collection and found its place, pulling it from the shelf and admiring how fresh it was—the first of its kind. She had printed ten of them, the short little novellas so artful in their style that her father had likened them to  _ belles-lettres _ of eroticism.

With an appreciative smile, she brought it back with her and placed it into the eager hands of the young Alpha lord.

“You are such an angel, Blackwell. I know not how you've come to this profession but it suits you so well and I can only thank my stars to know you personally rather than have to go through channels to find your efforts. I thank you again, Alpha and I will let you know if there is to be a pup soon enough...I could want for no better friend to tell.”

“You'd better. I will hear from you soon, Iverret, and tell me what you think of that little book.”

He wiggled it in his fingers before he tucked it into his pocket. “Of course I will. Thank you, Blackwell.”

They gave a mutual bow and when he was gone, she checked outside to see if there were any strange coaches waiting—for some of her guests did not always wish to be seen by the others—and when there were none, she sauntered her way to her father's study where he sat behind his desk looking over accounts which had already been looked over by his managers and were only in want of a second glance. She leaned against the door frame and admired his puzzled brow until he looked up at her and gave her a grin she thought mirrored her own.

“Good evening, Honor.”

“Good evening, Father.”

“Have you had something to eat? Is that Omega I smell?”

“Just a little touch so he might not be followed home. My little Charlie, you know.”

Tristan Blackwell, Viscount Griggsby, smiled readily much like she did. “I like that one. Well, I like them all. Should we be finding someone for him to marry?”

Honor let her brows come tight together. “So soon? He's only going into his first heat and he likes printing...”

“With the right mate, he could keep printing. You didn't answer my first question. Have you eaten? Your mother will have a fit if you don't eat tonight. She'll say you work too hard.”

“Of course she will. And I'm certain she has somewhere for me to be tonight as well. Some party or another I simply cannot avoid.” She gave an exaggerated sigh and then laughed at her father's secret grin which told her she was very right indeed.

Between bites of roasted duck and bread pudding, she was bathed and dressed while Lady Griggsby paced about and prattled on about the plans for the evening, the most pertinent of them being Honor's attendance at a social dance which, to her horror, was an event hosted by absolutely no one she knew. Her hair was tugged and pulled from its pins and despite the waves already pressed into her tresses, her mother's mate—that was, her father's valet and Honor's true sire—Olive, quickly fashioned her hair into a handsome style that swept it away from her face and appeared a bit more regal than her previous braids.

“Ama,” she said to the valet, catching her eyes in the mirror, “will you tell my mother that I have absolutely no desire to attend anything more than a fortune telling in some little Omega girl's parlor?”

Her mother quipped from a few feet away. “Do not think to use Olive to meddle when I am right here and can hear you. You're expected at this little gathering and I think you ought to go if you're insisting upon playing with your toys. They're a bunch of authors, perhaps they might hire you to print their books.”

She cast a wry expression to the Lady Griggsby and then gave a little snort. “Mother, I surely hope you know by now that I will not be courted by men who want to print anything that does not come to me through seedy back-channels. I print  _ art _ , not some brooding drivel that isn't any fun at all to read.”

The Omega puffed out a little indignant huff. “You are impossible, Honor. Is there nothing that will distract you from your very odd little habits? I swear to you, your father has been a terrible influence! Such lewdness is not meant for proper ladies...”

“If proper ladies had a little bit more lewdness in their lives, they might be a little less frigid,” Honor replied easily, teasing her mother. “You'd know a bit about that...I know what you read. There's no one less frigid than my own mother.”

The Lady huffed again but couldn't help her amused little smile. “You're terrible. And you're still going.”

“Yes, yes, fine. I will bear the burden of joyless, bland accounts of English sailors written by joyless, bland Englishmen if you wish. But I will not enjoy myself. I refuse.” Olive had finished with her hair and she dressed in a smart, tailored ensemble which did well to complement her raven hair and her dark eyes, accentuating the perfect mixture of her feminine and masculine traits. Olive adjusted little bits of her outfit from around her in the mirror.

“Thank you, Ama.”

“Of course, my love.”

It had not been terribly obvious at the first that her family was not at all like other families. When she was raised in the wilds of the English countryside she did not often meet very many other children and so it had not occurred to her at all that it was strange to have  _ four _ parents rather than two. Though her mother and her father were married, they did not share quarters with each other and it had never been kept a secret to her that her  _ real _ sire was her father's own valet. Knowing this, it had not taken a young Honor Blackwell any time at all to deduce the whims of her father's romanticism as he spent quite a bit of his time at the elbow of their very handsome—in Honor's opinion—neighbor, Mortimer Stone. Mort had been around so much in her childhood that she very much considered him a second father, and the one who was certainly more wont to look at her sternly should she cause mischief. He'd taught her how to fence, how to fly a kite, and even took her on her horseback riding lessons, his touch in her life extraordinary.

This, of course, made it very shocking indeed to discover that  _ none _ of this was  _ normal. _ Her introduction to society was jarring and off-putting, the strictures of expectation so unnatural to her that she often found herself wandering about in out-of-the-way spaces where no one might think to bother her. Her presentation as an Alpha was welcome and provided so much more freedom that she had craved in the beginning. Especially when it came to the romantic and erotic arts.

The discovery of the  _ Library _ had been accidental and she had kept it a well-guarded secret that she knew. It was only one morning after a night of exhaustive reading within its cozy confines that she had been confronted by a very amused Mortimer who gently teased her about her curiosity.

From then on, she had been fascinated. A whole world of text and drawings that were considered by society to be  _ obscene  _ and  _ undesirable. _ Surely there were many who sought what her family had amassed over the years. Surely there were those whose lives would be enriched by the expression of such bawdy prose!

And so the rest to now was history and Honor couldn't imagine doing anything else. Her efforts had resulted in deep, lasting friendships among many Alphas of the  _ haute-ton _ and a loyalty she had never known beyond her own family. When before she had skimmed the edges of society, she now felt that she was deep in the belly of it, a sought-after asset for any Alpha or Omega who might wish to season their nights—or even their afternoons—with the tickle of eroticism.

But tonight was not the sort of party she wished she was headed for—those of debauchery and youthful wildness—and she resigned herself to a very boring evening among the blathering of  _ respectable gentlemen. _ At least, she thought as she headed off down the stairs to gather her coat and her hat, these sorts of gatherings did have one upside: they provided the illusion that she was still a proper lady.

_ Whatever that means anymore... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This woman is my dream. I simultaneously want to BE her and DATE her.


	3. Chapter 3

Finn felt like he was trussed up like a turkey for Christmas dinner. His clothes were the height of this year's fashion for male Omegas, a little pastel peach bow tie about his stiff collar and a matching dinner jacket with a flare at the waist and a complementary waistcoat beneath. His trousers were perhaps a tad bit too tight but the sassy _modiste_ had assured his aunt that it was necessary with the boys to provide just the right amount of temptation. Finn found that he was rather unfond of being considered the apple by which a snake may tempt the garden dwellers. Especially when the garden dwellers were so much older than he.

Mr. Hendriss was a banker and he was at least fifty. Polite and knowledgeable, he had hardly left Finn and Pearl alone since they'd arrived. Finn was especially put out when Pearl was asked to play the pianoforte for it meant that he was alone with the man despite all the people around them and of course his aunt who sat nearby chatting with another chaperone. It wasn't as though any of the Omegas present were the ton's debutantes by any means. In fact, the other others present were two sisters of about sixteen and seventeen who were plain of face but very sweet in both scent and disposition and one relatively pugnacious eighteen-year-old boy whose chaperone was his inattentive uncle. Finn had attempted to begin a discussion with him only to be informed that he didn't wish to be seen with a soft little _fopling_ who strutted about to be bitten. From that point, Finn had retreated back in the sphere of Mr. Hendriss who had patted the back of his hand and called him “sweeting.”

Finn never ended up nearby anyone who was influential or important by any means and so he was shocked when he felt his aunt come to him and lead him away from Mr. Hendriss to speak with him about a guest.

“Phineas,” she began, her tone light while she adjusted the bow at his neck. “There is supposed to arrive here, any minute, a woman Alpha who is the heir of a Viscount. I wish for you to make her acquaintance. Be kind to her, little one, for should you manage to marry her, you will be very well taken care of indeed and I shan't worry for you.”

Finn was silent, his thoughts somber. _Should I marry anyone I think it might be cause for worry...they should not like me after they've discovered how ruined I already am._

“You smell sour, Phineas, do correct that. She will not wish to spend any moments with you should you smell like you wish to be anywhere else.” She tried her hand at fixing his hair but the announcement came. “Ah...here she is. I've no doubt that our host shall introduce her to all the Omegas.”

Strangely, Finn discovered that he _did_ wish to be introduced to her and somehow simultaneously, he _did not._ He did not remember what her name was. As soon as it had been announced, he saw her and his mind immediately forgot everything about this night. Mr. Hendriss, his aunt, the wonderful sound of his sister playing the pianoforte. It was all gone.

She was _stunning._ He did not think he had ever seen an Alpha woman so plainly beautiful in his life, her hair a shining raven black and the color of her face a slight gold and patterned over her nose and cheeks with the most charming and youthful freckles. Her eyes were witty and so dark brown that they were nearly black and how she held herself when she stood in the archway of the drawing room was as though she were a woman who held no concerns of life upon her shoulders. She held all the responsibility of the heir to a title and yet she appeared as free as a spirit on the wind, her shoulders straight and her form catlike and virile.

“Phineas,” his aunt murmured at his ear. “Your mouth is open and you are staring.”

He closed it, turning his wide eyes to her while her expression softened on him. She was not a particularly soft woman but she made do for him. She knew he was sensitive and so her hand came to his elbow while she tilted her head toward him. “She is a very handsome Alpha. And she is only twenty-six.”

 _Twenty-six._ He couldn't keep his eyes drawn away from her for long, finding the curve of her shapely legs and the line of her body to her throat and fine mold of her jaw. He didn't think he had ever seen a woman so beautiful in his life and the thought left a strange cold iron bar in his chest, jamming up into his throat. He could feel his anxiety mounting and so he excused himself from his aunt's side, claiming that he must use the water closet. When he was there, he let his eyes focus on the soft flame in the lamp as he sat on the commode and tried to gather himself. He was filling the small room with the bitterness of his nervous energy and he tried to breathe. She was _so beautiful_. But she would hate him. She would be so disgusted by him. How could he speak to her? How could he ever look her in the eyes knowing that she would think him a pure and sweet little Omega that she could marry and hold when he was truly a destroyed and despicable creature without hope and undeserving of pity? A wretch who was defiled and still somehow sought pleasure in the weakest of his moments—conjuring that defilement to seek disturbing relief. He could not think of how she would think of him. As some lovely divine virgin, only to discover his true nature. A nature altered and ugly.

He held his head, fighting against the panic inside him until he thought the worst of it was over, his body stiff and trembling. When he emerged, his ears were ringing and the hall was dim. His legs felt weak and so he leaned against one of the papered walls.

A voice found him. “Are you alright, little one?”

He recognized the Alpha who asked, a graying widower by the name of Nullin. Finn brought up his hands to hold himself but couldn't reply.

“Do you need a few more moments? I know it is difficult sometimes to be so trapped among the wolves. If you care to take a little longer, I shall stand guard for you.”

His eyes watered a bit but he shook his head though he wasn't entirely certain.

“Alright. Scurry along then, it won't do for us to arrive back together. I'd have to do much explaining to your aunt.” He offered a commiserating smile and when Finn sniffed his brows knitted a little in the middle with concern. “It's alright. I promise. There is no Alpha here who will begrudge you for nervousness or any trepidation. You are well within your rights to find us all brutes.”

He let himself have a humorless smile. “It is, perhaps, that some of you are not brutes that cause me nervousness.”

“Ah. You are averse to matrimony. That is very common. In fact, my own late wife was very forthright to me that she did not wish to marry.” At Finn's curious glance, he supplied easily, “If you think I won her over by any grand feat, you would be wrong, of course. It was all the little things stacked together. Take count of the little things, Mr. Harborel, for they are the only things that will matter in your memory.”

He felt a bit better then and he nodded, wiping at his eyes with his palm before he nodded again to take his leave and Mr. Nullin watched him as he toddled back toward the drawing room. With a shaking breath, he found his aunt again who gave him a concerned expression which he avoided studiously by focusing upon the others. He found that Pearl was still sitting at the pianoforte but she was not playing and instead was engaged in conversation.

His aunt leaned toward him. “Are you alright, Phineas? You and your sister are of similar dispositions but it seems that she has developed a bit of a knack.”

Pearl was looking upward, her head just ever-so-slightly turned so as to delicately show her throat while she smiled prettily toward the Alpha whose name he had already forgotten. A pang of something shot through his heart and he felt his mouth dip with some odd and amorphous displeasure. Jealousy? He wasn't sure. If it was, he wasn't certain who the target might have been for his discomfort—the Alpha who might steal away his beloved sister, or his sister who might capture the most gorgeous of women and leave him with nothing. The heir of the Viscount was leaning casually upon the pianoforte, her feet crossed and the air about her so nonchalant that Finn could have wept for how calm she appeared. As though she belonged here all the while. As though this was her very own drawing room.

He saw Pearl flit her gaze over to him and along with her, so did the Alpha whose mouth was in curious tilt. He felt their eyes over him even when he looked down at the carpet to avoid them, feeling sweat at his hairline and along his collar.

Mr. Hendriss' low tone sounded from his flank and he startled a bit, his hand to his chest.

“She's a bit of a rash one but of good stock.”

“P-Pardon?”

“Miss Blackwell there. Her father is Lord Griggsby. She takes after her mother and so much more for fortune, she is dashing isn't she?”

Finn could still feel a slight tremble overtaking him. “I s-suppose so.”

“Tell me, little one, is it you or your sister who is the elder of you both?”

“I am...but only by a minute or two.”

He smiled gaily, “Well then I suppose she might let you have the pick if you were feeling a bit covetous. I couldn't blame you. If the woman were a Beta, I'd be sure to consider my own chances. Shame she is what she is...for me, anyway. For you?” He gave Finn an appraising glance. “You could do far worse.”

Finn let himself look at her again, relieved to find that she was no longer looking over at him but was again engaged with his sister, her smile wider now and her attention rapt. Pearl certainly did appear to have a _knack_. She was easier with her voice, she was calmer and less prone to anxious fits. He had often considered that he might end up alone for the whole of his life but he wasn't ready yet to lose his sister. She was the one who kept him sane. She was the one who knew everything about him. What he had been through. What haunted him. For it haunted her as well.

_I don't want to lose Pearl. I want her to find love and joy but I also can't bear the thought that I will hardly see her when she does. It is not as though this Alpha would be a terrible choice but...Pearl...I'm not ready._

Even if he was not, it seemed as though she was.

Despite that his aunt tried to encourage him several times to be introduced to the Alpha gentlewoman, he resisted, feeling the familiar tendrils of shame and anxiety creeping over him with every attempt. Eventually, his aunt decided he did not smell good enough and so she let him be, allowing him to sit near the window until it was time to go, sipping his sherry and once chatting with Mr. Nullin who came by to see if he was alright. He insisted that he was, keen to note that this small party was much like the small country parties he'd attended in the little hamlet nearby to his uncle's estate. It was just that all the new people to remember made him a slight bit nervous.

_And what if they knew what I really was? Dirty. Disgraceful. They all look at me like I am some darling pure thing and I am really a disgusting little whore. The most terrible words have left my mouth and I have repeated them over and over. Fuck. Prick. Tool. Quim. Slick. Pussy. Bubbies. Cunt and cunny! I have had the most terrible of things shoved roughly into my bottom. Fingers. Dildos. Candles. Cock!_

Nullin's retreat came with a gentle squeeze of his hand that Finn almost couldn't bear. How could anyone touch him when he was so dirty? How could they not see it on his face or read it in his scent that he was soiled? But when he looked at Pearl, all pretty and pink in her fine lace and silks...she didn't look soiled at all. She looked beautiful and guileless. As though he had never heard her squeak and squeal behind the library doors. As though he had never held her as she wept in bed with him after their uncle had made her very sore indeed.

Their ride home in the coach had Pearl sitting next to him, her fingers laced with his. They rarely ever spoke when they could not be alone and so they were in their nightclothes before Pearl came to him in his room and settled onto his bed while he sat beneath the covers.

“You were very quiet,” she told him, her hair over her shoulder in a thick honey braid.

He nodded, feeling that iron bar in his chest again.

“You only spoke to a few Alphas...”

“I could not focus.”

“That is alright. We have plenty of time. Perhaps next time you will speak with Miss Blackwell. She is very charming.”

Finn felt a hot ball of emotion form in his stomach. “Was she? Did she charm you, Pearl? Are you so easy to lull?”

Her brows twitched downward. “Finn? Are you...upset with me?”

He felt that iron bar grow hotter with the ball of flame in his stomach and push upward until he had to slump down among his blankets and pillows and let his tears fall out of his eyes. Sobs released from him in hiccuping silence and he felt her weight come over him as she sought to compress him and wrap her arms around his torso to hold him. She was comfortable on top of him, her warm sweet scent around him as she held him and he reached up to hold her, feeling her warmth through the blankets. After a while, she pulled down his counterpane and sheets and crawled in with him, laying beside him and settling her arms again around him again. Despite that they were Omegas, it was impossible for them to soothe each other by the point on the back of their necks. Though they had not been Omegas at the time, it was far too common for their uncle to hold them down by that very spot and so in the both of them, it was the source of immediate horror. So she held him around his shoulders and squeezed him while he wept and pressed her forehead against his and kissed at his tears.

“ _It's alright, Finny. I'm here. Nothing is the same as it was. You don't have to be afraid. I'm here with you. Nothing terrible will happen to you again. Not while I'm here to protect you. And I will make certain that whatever Alpha or Beta has you...they will be good to you. Down to their toes. Kind. Loving. So very perfect._ ”

He wept harder, turning his face into his pillow while he was overcome by his grief. There could be no Alpha who would be perfect for him. They would discover that there was so much terribly wrong with him and then all perfection would come crashing down to a bitter disappointment.

“ _Shhh, my love. It will all be alright. You'll see. I've never lied to you, have I? Everything will turn out alright in the end._ ”

Despite her assurances, Finn fell asleep with an open chasm inside him, not hollow but filled tot he brim with all the terrible refuse that had been left there by his thoughts. _Pathetic. Dirty. Soiled. Ruined. Reviled. Whorish. Disgusting. Loathsome. Vile. Appalling. Depraved._

And still, when he woke in the morning, his eyes gritty with his dried sorrow, his mind was tumbling over and over with words he could only remember just out of sleep:

> _That the men are all dying to have us, if only we'll give them the chance;_

> _She was herself had in the carriage, coming home from the Lord Mayor's dance._

> _Now directly I get home next Xmas, I'll spoon my young cousin Jack Green,_

> _And I swear he'll be only too ready, to lend me his Fucking Machine._

Finn lay with his eyes closed for a little while longer, quashing the rhyme from his mind, hiding it behind everything else while he felt his sister beside him still, warm and asleep and so sweet. His breath was too quick and he could feel himself hard in his drawers. The urge came upon him as though he might reach out only just the few inches and touch Pearl's hips and perhaps draw her back to him. He thought about how it might feel to know her warmth, to know what it might feel like if he rucked up her nightdress and settled in behind her.

He could hardly move, daring not to allow himself such a disturbing scene. He reached down, pulling at the fabric of his nightclothes until he could tumble his hand beneath his drawers, finding himself hard and dripping already. He squeezed at his shaft a little too roughly and bit at his bottom lip. Remaining as silent as he could, he stroked at himself, tears flooding into his eyes and out over the bridge of his nose and into his pillow.

_I'm disgusting. I'm disgusting. I'm disgusting. What am I doing? I'm a monster. I'm as bad as he was. I am the worst brother alive. Why? Why am I doing this!?_

Inching his head forward just a little bit, he let himself smell her, his nose just an inch or so away from the back of her neck. Her own scent was not so different from his but it was just enough.

_Just enough for comfort._

When he came upon his climax, he gritted his teeth hard to prevent making a sound and let himself spend in his drawers. She would smell his arousal likely but perhaps she would still be sleeping long enough that his fleeting satisfaction would have filtered away. Finished, his sweeping shame washed over him again and he very slowly inched away from her. When he was far enough, he turned under the sheets and got out of the bed, quickly changing into his simple morning attire before he crept from the room and went to hide himself in the drawing room. It was early enough that the housekeeper was staring the fire in the hearth but she only gave him a soft glance as he wiped at his eyes and sat in his usual spot.

“Tea, Master Finn?” she asked in her mild voice.

“Y-yes, please...”

“Of course, dear.”

They all knew that there was something wrong with him. It was so plain for everyone to notice. If only they knew the half of it. He sighed, peering out toward the foggy London street and the leery who was darkening the lamps with the coming of the morning. He gathered himself once he had his tea and he moved to the small writing desk off to the side of the drawing room, opening the ink and settling down with the pen dipped. He wrote up another little article quick as could be and read it through again and again when he was finished to be sure that it said all that was necessary. No one should have to endure what Finn endured. He had been brought to ruin with filth. Surely it was done to many others if it was done to him. Surely this was the purpose of such terrible prose.

He folded the little piece of parchment and placed it in his pocket to put in the little wooden box where he kept all his little drafts for pamphlets. One day he would find a printer. One day he would reach the masses. One day there would be no more of this nastiness that could seep its way into a child's consciousness and turn them into depraved little heathens like him.

_Should I give up this crusade, I should simply cut my own wrists...for there is no other reason for me to linger... I must prevent this. I must keep this from happening. I must make it right...somehow..._

_I am so vile...I must find my redemption._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that gets me in the mood to write Finn and Honor's story is Survivor's _[High on You](https://open.spotify.com/track/0kly0FygSDXVbvbXxsZ31S)_ which seems way too lighthearted for the subject matter but **whatever.**
> 
> Our little Finn is a little fucked up. I think a little sex therapy might help. ;P
> 
>  **NOTE:** The little poem Finn is recalling is the last stanza of a poem from a publication from 1879 which made the rounds underground in London. He wouldn't actually be able to remember this from his childhood because it would have been put out the year that this is _set in_. So forgive me for that little alteration of history. :P ( _The Pearl: A Journal of Facetive and Voluptuous Reading_ )


	4. Chapter 4

Honor was sitting at breakfast with marmalade on her toast when her father wandered in with Mr. Stone behind him, the both of them cheerily laughing about something or another as they entered the room and hushing suspiciously when they saw her. She narrowed her eyes at them and only Mort would give her a light smile. She let them have their moments of joy without teasing this morning. The poor men were often subject to her teasing as they were so very obviously happy with each other and it was grating to say the least when she had yet to find a mate.

Her father was the first to address her. “How was the gathering last night? Any decent authors to add to our collections?”

Honor munched at her toast, fingering at the edge of one of the manuscripts that had been given to her lately. “They're all hobbyists...and they weren't there specifically for me to browse their work. There was some banker who was glad to tell me about his novel but it was hardly the sort I would print and there was a widower who seemed a little nervous to tell me about his projects...but I must be honest, Father, the most interesting aspects of the night were the Omegas.”

“Oh?”

Mort sat across from her with his poached eggs and a thick slice of ham. “Any who caught your eye?”

She polished off her toast while giving it a good think. The Omega who had played the pianoforte had been so engaging and enthralling and yet most of her conversation had been centered on her _brother_. Her name had been Miss Pearl Harborel and her words had been artful and genuine. The construction of her sentences had struck Honor as something lyrical along with the bird-like timbre of her voice. The manner in which she described her brother was most curious...treating him much like a frightened rabbit and surely the boy looked the part. His eyes were wide and shiny, his little nose twitching at every scent and every inkling he might have had toward danger.

_You cannot approach him, Miss Blackwell, for you are an intimidating force and he is very besotted by you. He will think himself quite undeserving of you for our standing in society...well...you understand._

Honor had very well understood and it was this that irked her when she spoke about him again with Mort. “You know how I am, Mort. I do very much like the aesthetic of boys.”

The sides of his mouth rose. “Yes, I believe we've had conversations about your preference toward males. There was one in particular?”

“A very timid thing. I only spoke to his twin sister. She did not seem interested in fashioning herself as an option for me though she was very outspoken about her brother.”

Her father spoke to that when he sat down with his own plate next to Mort. “Do be careful about those sorts. Sometimes they are timid for a reason and it is that there is already an Alpha on their tail who may be very upset at your involvement.”

“I did not gather that impression,” she replied easily, shuffling about with her manuscript. “I'm going to ask Mother if she might put together a little party and invite them. I think their aunt might be very happy to receive an invitation which might seek to elevate their social rank.”

“A decent plot. Do you intend upon courting him?”

“I cannot say.” She rubbed at her lower lip and then excused herself, taking her manuscripts with her. She spoke to her mother and settled upon a small dinner gathering. The Viscountess was very keen to see just what it was about the little male Omega that had captured her daughter's eye but Honor could not admit that it was not truly the boy who'd done it. It was Miss Pearl's words. Her brother was in all manners a pitiful little creature with cowlicks in his hair, frightened eyes, and a sour, anxious scent. Pearl was a vision of softness and grace with a slight melancholy to her that was intriguing and mystifying. Her light eyes sparkled and the delicacy of her form was alluring—all things about her that could have also translated to her twin should he have taken up her particular demeanor.

She wanted that. She thought about it all the way as she walked down toward the print shop and let herself in to find that her Betas were already working on the prints and the sewing without her. The huge press was running smoothly and the printed works that were finished were stacked in rows on a cart. She sat in a chair near the door and worked to settle her hair in braids around her head while Oscar came to her.

“Got the new one set and that's what's printin' now. We're puttin' together shipments for the buyers. You didn' 'ave to come in today, Alpha.”

“Charlie's out, I assume,” she supplied with her hair pins in her mouth.

“In heat like ye thought.”

She could not bring herself to act shocked and when her hair was up and out of the way, she surveyed how the press was running and then sat herself down a sewing machine, working away the morning and the afternoon with the Beta boys around her. They were such a well-oiled operation that she hardly ever had to answer questions as they all knew their places and their functions and so she merely worked alongside them and when there were no issues for the whole of the day and she was left with the deliveries, she went about them. In her mind, of course, there was much to stew over.

_He's a delicate soul, Alpha. He's got so much to give. Nervous though he may be, he is a very loyal friend and I believe that all he needs is a bit of tenderness. I should hope that any Alpha who finds him will be very gentle with him. He needs gentleness. He needs understanding._

Understanding. That word had stuck out to her, for there was very little in the way of understanding between most mates. Though they were often extremely compatible, they had their own interests and their own diversions and Honor had always considered that her mate would know very little about what she did as a distraction or as work and she would know very little about their activities with their friends and their social companions. They would talk about useful things and fanciful things and they would sit on the beach together during holiday and there would be quite a bit of sweetness between them but understanding?

Honor failed to consider it seriously. Though an Omega may be interested in erotic material, she was not so hopeful as to believe that her spouse would condone her printing press or the materials that it produced especially when it could put her life or her freedom in jeopardy should the less savory religious folks find out about it. Obscenity was not exactly smiled upon and Honor knew that her position was precarious. Though everyone around her acted as though marriage was a matter resolved by time, she herself was wary of its appeal. Though she did feel that she might throw caution to the wind and find romance with a sweet, darling little creature, she also could not resolve the idea that she would be terribly irresponsible should she find a mate and seek to continue her work.

After all, erotica was her passion. Could romance come between her and this? She looked up around herself at the press which was quiet now, done for the day and resting where it sat, huge and heavy, and formidable. No. Should a mate require more from her, then there was nothing left to give them. She could not afford understanding if it could take this away from her.

Still, she was curious. Mostly about what his voice might sound like. Would it be dulcet like Pearl's? Would it be reedy and thin with his anxious nature? Would it be lower than she expected? Would she find it attractive? What about his scent when he was not so muddled up by his emotions? Could the boy _inspire_ understanding? She wondered.

She wondered until she saw him again, this time standing in her own garden as it was warmer that day and the stink from the center of London was not so terrible. The poor creature was stuck like pitch to his sister's side, the illusion of his support of her rather than the other way around placed by the posing of their arms which were linked. Pearl's movements were fluid and docile while the poor male Omega's head twitched back and forth as though he were a frightened bird.

Honor waited, allowing for her mother to speak to the pair first, the Viscountess charming and, more importantly, disarming. Honor's mother was extremely good at making other Omegas feel as though they were not so very far out of their own element and yet still here Honor could tell that the little one was wary and reserved. When Lady Griggsby had withdrawn from the pair and had come to Honor's side as she stood among the greenery, her tone was low and concerned.

“Honor...he is a very delicate boy. Not to your taste.”

“How are you to know?”

“Though you have a manner that is conducive to the care of a fragile mate, this boy is more than fragile. He can hardly speak, Honor. He can hardly look up into anyone's face. There is something that's happened to him.” Her expression was pinched and her emotions were tangled. She was, at her core, a mother, and she held for every child around her an amount of love easily created and bestowed. A mother was always a mother no matter what. “I know you. You are caring and compassionate but you are also daring and affectionate. I fear that this boy cannot handle affection. Especially not the affection that you might be able to give. I know you may wish to rescue him, Honor, but there nothing to rescue him from. Should he be taken from his home, he will carry every evil that has touched him along with him.”

“Mother...” she sighed. “I have not yet even met him. I will be careful with him. I promise. It is likely that he will be disinterested in me or anyone else and you will not have to worry for him.”

Her mother's brows were still pinched and there was a glitter in her eyes. “It is far too late for that. I am already worried for him.”

“Of course you are.”

It did not take much doing to be introduced and Pearl seemed very happy indeed to have her with the two of them, their aunt across the garden from them and the pair left with her and chaperoned by each other and guests milling about. Though the girl was holding him and her presence had clearly kept him calm, his grip upon her arm was tight and his posture rigid.

Honor let her voice croon lightly, careful to control the amount of edge it held. “I trust that you've both sampled the punch? There are delicious finger sandwiches...”

“Oh yes, Alpha. It is all very delectable. You must forgive us. We are not used to such encounters. We must appear very poorly among your other guests...they are all so elegant...”

“Fear not, Miss Harborel, you are very welcome here and I daresay you have placed more care into your own visage than any here could boast. We all rest upon our laurels and take no effort and so we are slovenly compared to you.” She tilted her head as though she might seek the boy's eyes. His name was Phineas and he smelled like the dampness of a root cellar after a rain. “And I should say, I do not often see boys dressed so impeccably. Your _modiste_ must be very picky with their taste.”

Pearl glanced over at her brother, a flash of nervousness in her as she darted out her little pink tongue to moisten her lips. When he didn't respond, she swallowed and did so for him. “Finn is very self-conscious about how he is dressed for outings. There is something so crude about the manner in which boys are flaunted sometimes. That you can see their legs and that their trousers are so tight...I think he finds it a bit...brutish to be strutted about.”

Honor let her brows raise. “Well he'd be very right about that, at least. It is awful what they do to darling Omega boys. All that posturing and rigidity toward their fashions...absolutely terrible.”

Pearl's disposition lightened considerably. “Oh, that is good to hear...perhaps one day they will be more lax with their expectations. Are you a woman concerned with fashion, Alpha? Would you have any preferences toward what a boy might wear?”

“I do...but I fear that I may not speak of such matters where there are delicate ears present.”

Pearl stared at her for a moment before her cheeks flushed attractively and she raised her fingers to her mouth. “Oh.”

Phineas—Pearl had called him “Finn” and what a delicious little name!—was still quiet, his eyes fixed hard upon a point beyond Honor's elbow. He appeared as though he were not at all present in the moment and he had certainly not heard anything which had been said. Honor's heart gave out a small lance of pity for a moment though she quelled it easily.

Honor took in a deep breath. “Well. Perhaps Mr. Harborel would like some more punch? Or perhaps a sherry?”

“A sherry?” Pearl asked, her hand to her bosom. She looked about, searching for her aunt. “Surely it is too early...”

“How about this, I collect you some punch and I put a little champagne in it and no one has to know.”

Pearl looked at her brother again and then gave Honor a small nod. They were not alone long and when Honor returned with the glasses, Pearl had to hand one to Finn, drawing his eyes as he appeared to _wake_ from his odd fugue. He was only too happy to take the punch and when he sipped at it, he winced, as though he did not expect the champagne.

_Truly there is something about him which is curious. What the devil would have made him so strange? Surely he is not like this with his sister or his aunt._

“Finn?” Pearl asked, leaning in order to peer into his eyes. “Miss Blackwell has put some champagne in your punch. Is it too much?”

His wild eyes met Honor's for only a moment but that moment was enough and she could smell a sharpness to his musty scent. “N-No! It is acceptable. I...thank you...”

Honor nodded her head as a slight bow, determining that his voice was just as she might have guessed. It was smooth and light and she wished that it were cheerful though she did not hope to become so lucky. Phineas Harborel was clearly a boy who was far too caught up in his own mind to be attending parties or London soirees. Her mother's words hounded at her.

_There is something that's happened to him._

Pearl looked about awkwardly before she announced, “I must excuse myself for a moment. Miss Blackwell? Would you care overly to look after Phineas?”

The boy's panic was palpable but he did not say anything when Pearl rushed off toward the house, presumably to relieve herself. He merely stood on unsteady legs near the hollyhocks while Honor accompanied him and he said no words but reached his free arm up to hold himself while he sipped his punch with the other hand.

“Would you care to lean against this balustrade here, Mr. Harborel? You look a bit unsteady. Are you feeling alright?”

He didn't respond right away, his eyes moving and his nose sniffing before he managed to shuffle to the free-standing marble balustrade next to the garden path. “I am...I am alright.” He didn't sound convinced but his anxiety was enough to cover any lie in his scent.

“You live with your aunt, I understand. Your sister is very sweet to you...”

“Yes.”

A beat went by before Honor spoke again.

“Are you yet twenty, Mr. Harborel?”

“N-No.” He sipped again at his punch, this time it was long and deep.

Honor licked at her lips, uncertain as to how in the world she was supposed to keep a conversation going with a boy just about as interactive as a painted wall. “Do you paint? Sketch? Write, perhaps?” There was a small glint in his eye at the last suggestion and Honor caught it and held it. “An author? I should dearly love to read whatever it is that you write, little one. I am curious.”

“Y-You are?”

“Of course I am. Reading is a great passion of mine. Surely whatever it is that you write should be worth spending time to indulge within?”

The spark in his eye faded and she could see him withdrawing again.

“Please, tell me Mr. Harborel...what is it that you write?”

“Nothing...”

She relented, a feeling of absolute hopelessness coming over her then. “Surely not nothing. I know you do write. What is it about me that makes you so nervous? So reluctant?”

His lips were tight. “I...do not know.”

“Is it my inheritance? You cannot think yourself below me. You are here, are you not? You are attending this gathering. Humor me, Mr. Harborel...” She took a look around her before she leaned in so that no one else would hear. “Finn...”

That drew his attention fully and he looked straight at her face, studying her with a small bit of affront that came from her familiarity with him. At the very least, it was some kind of emotion and she was relieved to see it. “M-Miss...I...”

“Must I tease you to gain a reaction that is genuinely human? If you wish it, I will tease you at every turn. If you do not, you may tell me now and I will leave you be. But you must know that you are handsome of face, Finn, and that you have a pleasing form. I want to know what goes on behind your eyes. Why you are so intent upon leaving me without a shred of who you are or how I might find you behind whatever guards you've placed in your mind. Do you want me to find you, Finn? For I will seek you if you give me any sign that you wish to be found.”

He was staring at her, his eyes suddenly unfocused as his brows very softly tightened in the middle. “I...” His mouth was stuck open and he appeared to be struck dumb.

Honor caught a flash of pale blue muslin from Pearl's gown as she emerged from the house and she knew that their time alone was short. “Phineas, please. I know you can speak to me.”

His eyes focused back in upon her and he spoke clearly, his voice sure and shocking. “Alpha...it is a terrible ordeal to be known.” He drew himself away, brushing past Pearl as she approached and giving her a bit of a start before she looked between Honor and her brother, confusion mingling with a hearty concern in her eyes.

The Alpha could not help but give a great sigh, for he had told her nothing and there was nothing left for her to do.


	5. Chapter 5

How could she think to know him? How could she think to ask him anything of himself? She was too gracious, too handsome, too unbelievably kind for him to understand. He was pacing his room in the late evening, hoping that Pearl would not come to him so that he might not be tempted to press his nose into her hair and seek comfort in her scent. He didn't need all that. No. Of course he didn't. He sat down, staring at the wallpaper for a time, his mind running through every word that Miss Blackwell had said to him. The way her mouth had formed his name.

_Finn._

How absolutely vulgar. He drew up his nightclothes and stroked himself when he thought about her voice. How deep and yet how rustic and feminine it seemed. The voice of a woman who held the ability to command even without the Alpha tone—the voice of a woman who was confident and serious. She had fully meant everything she had said and she did not speak in jest often. Though she had suggested teasing, what she had meant was for her to flirt with him.

_Flirt...flirt! How scandalous. How devious! How Alpha!_

He palmed himself, chewing his bottom lip as he opened his thighs wider, sighing through his nose while pleasure sparkled out from his groin. He knew he touched himself too much. Of course, according to most of the prudent folk of England, once was probably considered too much. Finn felt like nearly every moment he was alone he was touching himself. He just needed that relief. He just needed something that was going to soften the frustrations he felt through the day. He thought about Miss Blackwell's soothing, naturally deep and feminine voice washing over him...commanding him.

_Sit there, little one. Sit there and watch me play with myself. I'm going to do such wicked things to you. I'm going to hold you down. I might even use your restraints. No? You don't want that? Well that's too bad, since you'll be tied down. Don't try to run, you little vamp, I'll just chase you down and I'll take you wherever I catch you. I'll make your sister watch me when I do it. I'll make her listen to your little squeals._

His mouth opened as he panted and sighed, his body tightening. It was an easy fantasy. Sometimes it was just some Alpha he saw on the street. Sometimes it was an Alpha he met at a party. This time it was Miss Blackwell. He thought about what it might have felt like if she would have crowded him until he was hidden behind the flowers. How it might have felt if she had held him down right there on the stones and bared his rump right there in the garden.

_If you wish it, I will tease you at every turn._

God, if only. If only she might tease him at every turn. If only it could be so easy and so simple as to make her understand him and how desperately sick he was. If only there were some way to tell her without _telling_ her. He imagined the way she might corner him, the way she might press him into a wall with her body. The way she might touch him between his thighs.

He hitched up when he came, his orgasm coming in sharply crested waves which curled his toes and bought a tiny little squeak from his throat. He slept so well that night. Deeply and without dreams or nightmares. In the morning, he dressed himself quickly and he sat down to compose a small pamphlet. He was happy with it enough and so he folded that one and put it in his waistcoat pocket. He normally carried them around for a day or so and then looked at them later when he had the time to see if they really were any good or if he might like to rewrite them. Sometimes, if he found himself getting anxious, he would pull out the folded pieces of parchment and he would read over them as a manner in which he might distract himself. That might be necessary today, he thought, as he was supposed to go with his aunt to a small fundraiser for whatever charity she liked so much.

Pearl was not with them that morning, a friend of their aunt taking her for an appointment with the _modiste_ who was supposed to be fitting her for a few new gowns which would surely make her even more attractive to the Alphas who paid any attention at all to the latest in fashions. So Finn was alone with a distracted chaperone who excitedly spoke to all of her charitable friends while he wandered about the garden without much care for there were not too many available bachelors at all in attendance. It was mostly just the Beta and Omega women of a certain age who were attracted to the good works like charities and the like and so he felt rather safe as he wandered about.

_This is the Graves house_ , he thought as he approached the doors leading out toward the garden. _I've heard that the Baron Graves is fairly rich, I wonder if there is anything he hides?_ This was something of a little taboo past time that Finn thought to be a little dastardly of him. Sometimes he thought it was a little interesting to read the spines in the libraries of these prominent men. After all, it would not do to be associated with men who kept certain books upon their shelves, would it?

He slowly made his way into the doors and crept toward the library, trying to step so that he might not make a sound. It was ridiculous, of course, he knew. Should he be found he would only be scolded a little bit and _maybe_ sent back to his aunt but he sought to be silent anyhow. The library was not difficult to find and when he was there, he found the sideboard immediately, looking through the decanters to find the sherry.

He normally was not so bold. This was rather unlike him. But without Pearl and without anyone else there to see him, he let his heart pound in his chest and he poured himself a sherry right to the brim, sipping it while he perused the library shelves, his finger marking where his eyes led him and when the spine was not delicately painted with the titles, he sought to pull them slightly out so that he might look at the covers. Should the covers not lead anywhere, he would put his sherry down and flip to the title page or the first page of the work itself. Baron Graves seemed to be a very avid fan of historic architecture though there were some small novels here and there. There was no real order to the volumes and so Finn was sometimes surprised by what he found though he did not find anything racy, to be sure. Perhaps there was a secret library. That was something he'd heard of before—men having small out-of-the-way libraries in their studies or even in _secret rooms_ in order to squirrel away obscene materials.

Finn sipped at his sherry until it was almost half-gone, almost entirely lost in his perusal of books. He nearly forgot what he was supposed to be looking for. Baron Graves' illicit collection of erotica. Finn honestly hadn't run into much when he did things like this. Only once had he found a somewhat scandalous book among the volumes in a family's household but the thing was hardly something he could decry as terribly immoral, it being a collection of rather dull poetry by some unknown who sought to describe a woman's nipple in relation to its color against pink peonies.

He was about halfway through the spines when he was startled and nearly dropped his glass.

“Oh, hello.”

Finn whirled about, holding his drink to his chest as his cheeks filled with a pink flush. He couldn't find his voice and so he didn't bother to respond, staring at this man who intruded upon his careful work instead. A rather tall Alpha with broad shoulders and a neutral-looking expression on his conventionally handsome face. A man who likely could wander into a ballroom and very easily gather dances from the edges of a cluster of Omegas. A man who might have been nobility just judging from the regal shape of his nose and the symmetry of his face.

“You're a delicate little thing aren't you? Who is your chaperone?” When Finn did not respond, he continued. “A reader, are you? I admit I have read most of these books. The Baron is my uncle. I've spent much time here and I sought to be alone...though I suppose I wouldn't mind spending time with your scent around me. It is quite nice.”

Finn sought to retain the distance between himself and this strange new Alpha but when the man came into the room, it was difficult to make his feet move and so he stood right where he was, his glass held to his chest and his eyes on the interloper.

“Have you found anything interesting yet? What have you got there?” He came near and Finn couldn't move, frozen to his spot with his jaw rigid while the man approached and plucked up the book that had been left on its side on the shelf. “Oh...just this one? You know I think this is the only good spooky story in the whole lot. Some American who had a rather good taste for the supernatural. His prose is a bit floral for me.” He was close and his scent was earthy and relaxed, a bit stinging like the smell of the air just before a rainstorm. His eyes were a pale blue and when they focused deeply upon Finn's face, a familiar panic began to beat out from his heart. “Oh...you are certainly a handsome little fellow. Where is your chaperone or do you not have one?”

Finn tripped over his own feet, stumbling off to the side in order to create the distance he'd wished he'd kept before. In his fumbling, the parchment in his waistcoat pocket fluttered to the ground and when he sought to pick it up, he was too slow. The Alpha had it.

“What's this?”

“It's...it's nothing! Please, Alpha!” He almost reached out to try to snatch it out of the man's hands but he stopped before he could go through with it. Trying to take anything from an Alpha only made them want the thing more. Trying to take anything from his uncle used to get his little bottom caned until he bled. He didn't want to think about what this man could do to him here where they were alone together.

_Alone together._

A thousand small jewels of panic seemed to scatter in his mind as he watched the Alpha's pale ice eyes wander over his fine script.

“Oh...did you write this? You've a very sharp little brain in that head of yours, don't you?” The edge of his mouth ticked up a bit and he lowered the page to peer at him curiously. “So you're one of those prudent Omegas. Well. I say godspeed to you...heaven knows there's too much dastardly doings going on out there.”

“Th-There..is...?” Those tiny jewels which had scattered along the creases of his anxiety seemed to shudder with his vexation.

“Of course there is. As a matter of fact, your skittishness is a part of it. If there weren't so much dastardly doing then you wouldn't have any need to seek shelter from my presence. The fact that there are so many terrible things floating about leading Alphas to think that they might commit such infractions in their own drawing rooms of course would lead Omegas to require chaperones.”

He spoke with such casual conviction that Finn was shocked into silence for a few moments, watching the man watch him and gauge his reactions. “I...I...I had hoped that I sh-should find a printer who might not object to m-my convictions...”

“Printers do not mind your convictions. They mind your money.”

He felt a little jab of apprehension in his heart. “I...I have some p-pin money saved...though there is not very much. I have b-been writing them and hoping that I might pen one well enough that it would be worth printing...” Why was he telling this man this? Why was he telling this man this secret he thought he should have been taking to his grave?

“Is this your little pen name down here? C. M. Wade? What a charming ruse. It almost sounds like something an Alpha might think up. How delightful.” His eyes flicked over Finn and then he turned about toward the settee, sitting down upon it and leaning back elegantly, stretching out his long legs as though he might show his belly like a cat feeling easy and free. He peered again over the pamphlet draft. “I think you ought to put a name that might hint at your true dynamic. Only Betas ever choose pen names that imply _Alpha_. I think you ought to be a little more forward about it. How about _Rory_ for a first name...that is, of course, if your name isn't already Rory. What is your name, little one? And oh...I never introduced myself. I'm Lark...a Bonovich, if you couldn't tell by our famous eyes. No matter what, it always seems we can never beget a single pup without these unnatural eyes...though I do seem to recall a cousin who managed to have one blue and one brown. A bit of a scandal in the family, you can imagine.” He was smiling, completely at ease despite Finn's fidgeting aloofness. He was staring at the boy and waiting for a name.

“I...I do not think this is a proper method of introduction...”

“Well who will introduce us if not ourselves? I see no one about.”

“I should return to my aunt...”

Bonovich held the parchment to his chest. “Oh yes, oh dear. I hadn't thought of that. I was so entertained that all propriety slipped my mind. I am so bored, you see and you've such a charming air about you though you are a bit quiet. How about this?” The man leaned forward, his unsettling gaze finding Finn's eyes and capturing them as he placed his elbows on his knees. “Have you a calling card, little one?”

His shaking hands found the breast pocket of his waistcoat and he pulled one scented bit of paper out from behind his pocket square.

“Lovely. I will take that and you may take this,” he held up the pamplet in two fingers. “An even trade. Then, tomorrow, I will call upon you during calling hours. Make certain you have a suitable draft ready for I will make up the difference for a small print run. I should not go to the printer with you for I have quite a few friends who may take offense to such a thing coming from me. But you...Omega...you're not well-known, are you?”

“N-No...” He felt his cheeks flush as a vague aspect of shame came to him.

“Better for you, then. No one will recognize you. Wear a shabby little coat if you have one and make sure you're not followed. I'll give you the address for a printer tomorrow.”

“I cannot accept, sir.”

“Of course you can, don't be ridiculous.” Bonovich wiggled his paper. “You do want this printed. I know you do. You'd like to scrub all that disgusting material right out of London's underground, wouldn't you? You'd like to root out all of those immoral sodomites from the rocks they hide under, wouldn't you?” An odd shine took to his too-light eyes.

Finn felt a big lump in his throat. “I...yes...”

“Oh darling, you've no idea how many of us there are. Men like you and me.”

For a moment, he thought perhaps Bonovich was trying to tell him something terribly personal. He almost wanted to blurt out with all of it. _I've been raped. I've been beaten. I've been pinched and held down and I was only a boy! A child!_ But he held back. He bit his bottom lip and he could feel his whole body trembling with it as the lump in his throat nearly made it too difficult to breathe. Bonovich wasn't telling him that they were the _same_...only that they were similar. The Alpha wanted to rid London of this epidemic of sin...that was all. He didn't want to know about all of Finn's terrible secrets.

The Omega inched forward and held out his calling card, watching the Alpha reach out for it and snip it from his fingers before he held out the parchment, allowing Finn to take it from a full arm's length away.

_He knows I don't trust him. That I cannot. Not when we've met like this._

“Phineas Harborel,” he read. “A perfect name for that darling little face. Do think about what I've said. I'll call upon you tomorrow, then.” It was not a question. “Run along, Phineas. Go back to your aunt...and do expect me. I'll not let you give up your hero's quest simply for a lack of funds. No doubt your pin money won't be enough.”

He hadn't left any opening to argue and so Finn found himself moving, his eyes feeling rather wet when he found his way back to the garden. He lingered near the door for a little while until he was noticed by one of the younger Beta women roaming about and though he was able to converse with her for a small time, he could sense that she was nervous around him. His answers were not as schooled as Pearl's and he knew he was prone to awkwardness sometimes. Especially if he was distracted.

_Of course I am distracted. A man my chaperone has never even met is going to call upon me?_

He was rejoined by his aunt for only a few seconds and though there were questions in her eyes, she was unable to speak to him alone for a voice turned her head.

“Mrs. Harborel?”

She turned about. “Oh, Mrs. DeLourhey, how are you? You've met Phineas...”

The Omega which approached them was half-familiar to Finn but what was more important was the Alpha at her side.

_Oh. I suppose I need not have worried about becoming introduced. He's already got all that figured out. A competent Alpha? I daresay I've not met one before..._ He could have frowned at himself. _Though Miss Blackwell seems competent enough...and especially in my dreams..._

_“_ Mr. Harborel, this is my nephew, Mr. Bonovich.”

Bonovich had clearly orchestrated the entire introduction, his hand coming out smoothly to invite Finn's fingers to his own and when the Omega shakily pressed into them he was relieved when the Alpha merely bowed lightly over his hand. “It is wonderful to meet you, Mr. Harborel. I have been so lonely here without an Omega's fine charms. Perhaps you will take a turn with me about the garden?”

His aunt nudged him a bit unnecessarily and he nodded once without speaking, unable to get a word out. Being guided away, he could still hear the women conversing. His aunt's tone apologetic.

_“He's a very skittish boy. Sometimes his manners escape him.”_

_“Don't worry, Lark has him well enough in hand. He's a charming Alpha. If anyone can make an Omega bloom for them, it's that boy.”_

_“I doubt there is an Alpha alive who could be patient enough...”_

Finn pulled his hand away from Bonovich's as soon as it was permissible and sought to keep a good enough distance between them as they walked.

“You're so stiff, little one. Slow down. We're only walking the garden. There are plenty of folk around us and they all have your chastity in mind, no doubt.” He was smiling and his scent was a spiced sort that was far more suited to the outdoors. Finn was alarmed to find that he rather liked it, discovering that as long as he was not cramped up and overly-anxious, it was almost enjoyable to be around. He tried to not look too long at the Alpha's face, seeking not to stare. He was a handsome man, after all, with a proud nose and a well-defined jaw. His sandy hair was only the smallest bit untidy though not quite as unkempt as Finn's usually ended up after all his nervous fretting. “Are you always like this? Like a little rabbit on the lookout for a fox?”

Finn blinked. “You...You read my work and...and you should have to ask this?”

“Ah yes, there are demons all around you, aren't there? I should know better. You've likely never met an Alpha capable of controlling himself. Surely no man has ever been so gauche as to touch you in a garden with so many people about? No. Do not answer that, I can hardly stand to know the truth.” He sighed, his scent a gentle wave of Alpha fire. He was calm, still, and that was enough to cause Finn to relax a little bit more. “You know, Mr. Harborel, I can't help but think that something absolutely terrible has happened to you.” He looked around, making certain they were out of earshot of everyone else in the garden before he looked down at him again. “I'm right, aren't I?”

Finn's mouth was open. He knew it was. A thousand teeming voices were screaming up from his soul, telling him to run.

_It is a terrible ordeal to be known._

Bonovich's brows curved upward with concern. “Mr. Harborel?”

“Yes,” Finn heard himself say. “Yes. Something terrible has happened to me...” And with that, he walked away, submitting to the energy that had caused him to flee from Miss Blackwell. Both of these Alphas had done something to him. They had cast a spell or completed some trickery, he thought as he wiped at his eyes. He'd wanted to tell Miss Blackwell to tease him whenever possible and just now, he'd wanted to blurt out every small detail of his body's hideous memory to this stranger!

_Alphas! Like some kind of devilry! They get you to do whatever it is that they wish and then they wish for your clothes off in an out-of-the-way parlor and your face down in the carpet and your arse up in the air and...and...and then...! Then the terrible things happen!_

He stayed by his aunt's side the rest of the gathering and he did not speak to Lark Bonovich. He didn't even look at him. The man was still going to come to call upon him on the morrow. He could hardly breathe in knowing it. This Alpha was going to come into his home and give him a little gift...that is, if he could get away with it. The whole idea seemed strange, to allow money to exchange hands right in front of a chaperone. Oh but this Alpha was crafty, Finn reminded himself. He would find a way to make it happen. He already had a plan. This was, perhaps, why Finn didn't look at him. There would be a smugness in his eyes. All devious Alphas had that similar smugness...and Finn didn't like that at all.

At least, he thought again when he was home and he was sinking into the coolness of his sheets after taking supper in his room. He didn't like it when he saw it anywhere but in his fantasies. He closed his eyes, hugging his firm pillow and seeking to conjure up what Mr. Bonovich might have looked like underneath his clothes. Pale with his unnerving eyes focused and shining, his sand-colored hair messy but subdued.

It was no use, he found, when he had to adjust himself several times after having closed his eyes. The Bonovich he'd conjured simply was too placid. To calm. There was no spark in him. No fire.

Sighing, eventually he had to capitulate, cupping his little Omega cock in his fingers as he closed his eyes again and summoned up an Alpha he knew beyond a doubt would get him hard.

Her eyes a deep brown, so dark he couldn't see her pupils. Her hair like a raven's wing, tumbling over her strong, broad shoulders. Her breasts a gentle swell over her muscular chest and her lips impossibly soft. Oh how virile she was. Oh how strong and brave and self-assured! If only Finn could have had that same elegance and grace. The daughter of a viscount. A woman who offered to _tease_ him.

“ _Mmm,_ ” he sighed to no one. “ _Mm...Miss Blackwell...Alpha...please. Tease me. Tease me. I need it. I want it. I...I deserve it._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A challenger appears?


	6. Chapter 6

Pearl was in her morning dress, a gauzy light-colored thing that flowed around her as she sat upon the settee working on her embroidery. Finn thought she was very good at needlework and though it was not the sort of thing that boys were used to doing, he had taken it upon himself to try at the very least. His aunt didn't seem to mind, considering it a harmless bit of nothing for him to spend time doing. Male Omegas were often considered of no particular use in many regards and so he thought himself rather wanting for things to occupy his time. He went about to find his own, poking the needle through the fabric and every once in a while peering over toward Pearl's progress before sighing down at his own.

“You're doing very well, Finn.”

“It looks like a disaster.”

“No, it looks like a flower.” She patted the other end of the settee and he moved over to sit next to her. Calling hours were just about to start and his nerves were fluttering about like frightened butterflies, his ears attuned to every sound and his scent sparking with anticipation. It was too much for Pearl not to notice. “Is it Miss Blackwell?”

“What?”

“Who's coming to call upon you?” She looked at him thoughtfully before she turned her head to look out toward the open drawing room door. Their aunt had left them that morning to meet with a group of other women organizing a fundraiser and she had not yet returned. Should a gentleman caller arrive, it would be prudent to turn him away.

“It won't matter, our Aunt is not here and—”

“Oh do not be such a bore, Phineas. I am here with you and so is our housekeeper, Louise. It is not as though they may ravish us all at the same time. Who are they?”

He poked his needle again through the fabric, his mouth tight to the side. “A Mr. Bonovich.”

Her eyes flashed. “Oh? You know, the Bonovich family is very illustrious...no doubt he's rich. How lovely for you to have been introduced. Though I am surprised that you allowed a man to come so close to you...after your cool reception toward Miss Blackwell.”

He tsked.

Pearl adjusted her light wrap about her shoulders and set her sewing in her lap. “I know you like her. That's why you're so awkward about her. I know you, Finn. She's a darling Alpha and I know she'll forgive you your awkwardness.”

“I do not want to be forgiven. I would rather be buried in the ground and sink straight into the earth.”

“Oh how ghastly you can be.”

It was at this juncture that Louise appeared in the doorway and announced to the both of them that a Mr. Bonovich had come to call. “Shall I tell him you're not accepting?” she asked, her soft eyes warm over Finn's flushed face.

Pearl, of course, answered for him. “No, no, don't be silly Louise, we simply must get this boy married. Aunt Janet won't mind what we don't tell her and if you'll just stay by the door, surely we might get on well enough without being ravished.”

“Very well, Miss.”

His sister turned to him, adjusting his cravat a bit and pinching his cheeks to give him a more focused pink though he felt as though he were already pink all over. She quit just before Lark Bonovich entered the room, giving them both a pleasant bow before he looked about, his eyes guileless and wide.

“Your chaperone?”

Pearl put aside her sewing. “Out for only a moment, sir. We thought it would be careless not to engage you when we get so few calls as it is.”

“I don't believe we've met, Little Miss,” he smiled without missing a beat, appearing almost delighted to find that he would not be watched by some hawk of a matron.

Pearl elbowed Finn rather hard in the ribs and he sucked in a painful breath. “Oh! Mr. Bonovich, this is my sister, Pearl.”

He gave her another bow, his smile dashing and utterly mystifying in its ease. How could he seem so carefree? He would have to somehow give Finn an amount of money and the name of a printer within the full sight of his sister and their housekeeper...though Louise was looking around the room as though she wished to be anywhere else. Still, Pearl was fully enraptured by the handsome visage of the man before them and in particular with his unusual eyes. “I am so lucky this morning then, to have come to call upon Mr. Harborel for I was not aware that there was a Miss as well. How darling you both are and out in society at the same moment? Extraordinary.”

Finn cleared his throat, much to Pearl's surprise. “We are twins, Alpha. It could only be reasonable to allow us both in the same season...”

“Twins,” he grinned, as though he had just been handed two slices of cake instead of one. “How novel and how sweet. I know it is rather boorish to talk of scent in the drawing room but how darling you both are and how well you complement each other. I daresay I shan't stay long lest your Aunt find me here and though I have been tasked with something of an errand by my mother.” The gentleman reached into the pocket of his jacket and revealed a small cream-colored envelope which he handed by two fingers to Finn before he addressed Pearl. “Now that I have been alerted to your existence, Miss Harborel, I will send another invitation this evening by courier. How dastardly of your brother not to mention you.”

Pearl's smile was coy. “Have you met my brother? It is no shock he would seek to shelter me, is it?”

Bonovich's pale eyes flashed with something curious but mild, his scent never changing from the muted tone which was hidden beneath a strong sandalwood soap. It was normal for Alphas coming to call upon single Omegas to dampen themselves in such a manner and Finn was ever-appreciative of the custom. “I suppose it is no surprise to note that Mr. Harborel may seek to protect you. Anyhow, I shall take my leave before your naughtiness is discovered by your Aunt and I am forced to wed one or both of you...” he chuckled at his jest, “...good day, little ones.” He gave another bow and adjusted his grip on his hat before he made his way to the door, not once having sit down.

Pearl grasped at his arm and gently shook him. “What a dashing rogue and did you see his eyes? How novel and divine! Quick, open your invitation, let me see!”

Finn did not open his invitation. Instead, he hid it in his pocket with a slight admonishment that she would get her own in a short while and that he would not like to open it if there was to be something uncouth inside such as a small square of fabric with a scent upon it. Pearl was miffed and not at all placated, wilting a bit when he left her, taking his embroidery with him as though he might work on it in his room. He would not be working on it at all. Instead, he sat at his writing desk and opened the small cream envelope. There _was_ an invitation inside, a stiff card which was for a legitimate dinner party. He set that aside and put his fingers inside the envelope again to pull out the carefully folded money Bonovich had promised him. When he picked up the invitation again he found a scrawled note upon the back, the writing that of a hurried man. It was an address and only that.

Finn easily committed it to memory before he hid the note in his pocket along with the final draft of his pamphlet and the money Bonovich had given him. He was going to get this done and he was going to get it done right.

* * *

The afternoon found Honor wandering back toward the print shop after having been called away. It was relatively uncommon, of course, for her to have to _rescue_ a novel but when the letters came, she was adamant that they must be answered. This one had been from a young gentleman whose mother had discovered a rather bawdy piece of fiction and, instead of allowing the woman to destroy it, he called for Honor who surreptitiously arrived at the servant's entrance to the kitchens to accept it, tucking it into her coat and trusting the young gentleman to formulate an excuse to his mother about why it was missing. In this case, it was not a copy that Honor herself had printed but a double of one in her collection all the same.

London this time of year was a little chilly so she had her coat about her shoulders and she was rather distracted by her thoughts as her feet were automatically drawn to the natural path she would take to get back to her destination. It was never fully prudent to allow for daydreaming when wandering through the capital but she couldn't help it these days. Not when she had so much on her mind.

Her mother's insistence that Finn Harborel was unfit for marriage was weighing heavily over her. Could she imagine being so recklessly damaged as to be _unfit for marriage?_ What sort of bastard could have made a boy so sweet and darling into the skittish kitten he was now? She wanted to punch someone or better yet, tie them down and leave them to freeze in the winter night. It was unfathomable for her to understand how someone could have harmed him so deeply and yet she saw the evidence clear before her in the way his eyes were wide in a subdued horror and how his body was held with such a fraught tension.

But his sister—she was similarly affected, surely, and yet her outward countenance was less jagged at the edges. She was wary, for sure, but she was more optimistic than her brother, looking for affection and acceptance rather than isolation. They were similar in many ways but in this they were vastly different. Perhaps Finn had faced the worst of it, she surmised, wondering just what it might have been that would force young darling Omegas into a state of constant underlying fear and their reluctance to be parted.

Her thoughts had so fogged up her mind that she forgot to make one of her gradual turns and found herself in one of the alleys that comprised a rather dubious shortcut she had once taken on a midmorning last winter when there was little chance of ruffians. Young boys with little to do often found themselves into some kind of trouble in out of the way places like these and when she realized her error, she discovered that she realized a little too late to avoid confrontation. Of course, she wasn't the first to be confronted, she deduced, from the small yelps that were emanating from the group of three who were huddled about against the rough outer wall of the apartments.

There was one Alpha among them, a boy of perhaps seventeen who was already tall and was sporting the lithe, burgeoning muscle of his youth. He caught scent of her first and disengaged from their target, facing her with his shoulders up and his teeth bared.

“Turn around, Alpha,” he growled.

She looked at him with mild surprise, her hands in the pockets of her coat.

“I said 'turn around, Alpha,' can't ye hear me?”

“I can hear you just fine,” she replied. “But I don't think I'm inclined to allow whatever it is that you're doing here.”

“You want a fight?” he asked, a small knife suddenly in his hand. “I'll give you a bit of this and maybe you'll think better come next day you think of crossin' me, eh?”

Her cheek tightened to the side before she moved quickly toward him, rushing him so that he wouldn't have time to plant his feet correctly. She hit his hand holding the knife first from the bottom, dislodging the short, deadly thing so that it clattered behind some crates off to the side and with her other hand, she pushed him hard backward to drop him to his rump in the grime of the alley. This was enough to distract the two Betas who had been with him and, cowards as they usually are when they've got the muscle of an Alpha, ran quickly around the corner to escape their own comeuppance. The Alpha rolled to the side, expecting a cheap blow and when it didn't come, he stared at her, backing up until he felt safe enough to turn tail and run. It was for the best. He was outmatched even if Honor didn't have a sword on her, for she was relatively well-versed in hand-to-hand and could certainly win against a boy like that.

Immediately, she came to the poor soul who'd been rumpled by them, finding him to have collapsed against the cold brick, his hat beside him and his coat and clothes irreparably rumbled. She spied his honey hair and when she knelt down before him to examine him, she recognized him with a start.

“Mr. Harborel?!”

His cheeks were wet and he was clearly disoriented, his breaths shallow and his eyes glossy with confusion.

“Mr. Harborel, what in the devil are you doing out here? Oh, nevermind, I'll get you all fixed up and then we can deliver you back home.” She nodded to herself, trying not to imagine all the odd reasons a boy like this might be outside and in a shady alley like this. Where was his chaperone? Where was his sister? Was he out here alone? Had he run away? His hat and his coat were somewhat shabby though his waistcoat and trousers were of a finer quality and so she thought he might have been in some kind of _disguise_. Good gracious was he meeting with some ne'er-do-well for an afternoon tryst? Her sensibilities should not have been able to entertain the notion but it stuck anyhow. She brought him to his feet best she could, fighting against his weak knees for a few moments until he had somehow gathered himself.

With quick steps, she guided him out onto the wider street and took him to her print shop. When they entered, the press was whirring and the boys were pressing and sewing, paying her no mind beyond Oscar's curious crinkled brow at the Omega with which she had returned. He didn't focus upon her long for he was much too focused upon his work to bother with questions he'd no right to ask.

Honor sat Harborel down on the spare wooden chair by the door, sweeping papers off of it into a heap on the floor before his rump was planted firmly on the seat. She was glad for how warm it was in here, for the Omega's hands were very cold and his cheeks were very pink. Kneeling before him, she rubbed his fingers between her palms and spoke to him softly. “Tell me they did not harm you, little one. You look very out of sorts. What in the world were you doing out in the streets on your own?”

It took him a little time to look at her, his gaze focusing in tight before a shade of frightened recognition passed through them.

“It is only me, Mr. Harborel, and I will not let any harm befall you while you're in my care. Can you tell me what you're doing?”

“I...” he tried, his eyes moving around her to the loud, whirring press and then to the Betas who scurried about working. “I am...looking for...” He trailed off, staring at the huge web press, watching it unravel the large roll of paper and run it through for print.

“What is it, darling? Whatever it is I'll help you find it.”

“754 Thayer Street...”

“754 Thayer Street?” She blinked. “Well...you're there. _This_ is 754 Thayer Street.”

Harborel was waking up in turns, blinking as he seemed to come-to and realize just what he was looking at. He stood suddenly, unsteady on his feet and driving Honor to stand as well, putting out her arm to keep him from tipping over. “Oh gracious! Miss...Miss Blackwell, what are you doing here?”

“Well, Omega, this is my press. Are you not here to find me?”

“ _Your press?!_ ” He almost appeared as though he might faint dead away and so she put out her arms as though to catch him. At the last moment, he seemed to recover and he put his trembling hand up to his forehead. “I...there's been some kind of mistake, surely...”

“Are you looking for a printer?”

He was so disgruntled it seemed that he forgot to lie. “Yes...”

“Then you are looking for me. What is it that you'd like to print, little one?”

Finn Harborel's entire body was shaking very lightly and his eyes were as wide as saucers. She could smell the shock in him, the utter panic and humiliation that was threading his normally sweet scent with a disturbing musk.

“ _Shhhh, you're alright,_ ” she told him, gently moving him again until he was sitting and she was kneeling before him. She took his hands again and squeezed at them, drawing his eyes. “ _You're alright. No one is going to harm you or be upset. Everything is going to be perfectly fine._ ”

He didn't believe her. She could tell just by looking at him that he was beyond belief. “Alpha...I cannot know if I can trust you. I have placed so little trust in all other places and I have been forced to trust once. I cannot know if I could stomach it again.” Tears were shining in his eyes and he quickly wiped them away.

“You do not have to trust me if you do not wish, though I would beg for it if I knew that I would find success. Your secret heart is not for sport and I will not be so callous as to treat it so.”

He reached out, looking to be steadied and she steadied him with her hand upon his upper arm, the touch very chaste and professional though she could feel him tense beneath her touch as though he could not stand to be held. “Alpha...”

“Yes, Mr. Harborel?”

The Omega reached into the breast pocket of his waistcoat and pulled from it a small folded parchment which he did not hand her right away, merely staring at it before she coaxed it from his fingers.

Her heart nearly stopped when she read through the careful script.

_The Librarian._

She swallowed, tempering her scent quickly by suppressing every wandering emotion and clearing her mind of all its paths toward unnerved resistance. This was a pamphlet. This was a piece that was meant to place the spotlight upon _her._ But he didn't know who she was.

_Did he?_

She held the parchment to her chest. “Mr. Harborel, why would you come to me to get this printed?”

His eyes were still wide. “I didn't know that...that _you_...”

“You didn't know that I what?”

“Printed.”

“Oh?” She frowned. “Who did you think printed here?”

He didn't seem to understand the question, his mouth half-open without sound as he shook his head. “I...I was...I don't know. B-but Alpha...those men in the alley...they took my money...”

She sighed. “Of course they did. And I suppose you were going to offer me that money to have this printed for you. Oh...” She looked at the scrawl, a condemnation of her passion. A complete and utter tearing down of the very principle she held so dear—that of a freedom of expression and of erotic sensuality in fiction. “Did you write this, little one? Is this what you want?”

There was still wetness in his eyes. “Y-Yes.”

Perhaps it was a long time for her to reply to him. She could not know what her heart was telling her with every beat. With every pang. But she did, eventually, reply to him and her voice seemed as though it came from the mouth of another girl.

“Alright, Mr. Harborel. I'll print this for you. How many copies did you need?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honor, what?


	7. Chapter 7

He stood in awe of the press before him and of the woman who set the type. The Honourable Miss Honor Blackwell seemed far too refined for this kind of menial work, he thought. This was a trade. This was something that one did when one _must_. What manner of boredom could have driven a noblewoman of her ilk into _this?_ Finn was far out of his comfort when he looked around him at the young men who worked with her. Was she friendly with them? He peered curiously at the boy who was working at a machine that seemed to sew pieces of pages together. He was an Omega by the scent of him and he wondered suddenly if Miss Blackwell had ever been intimate with him.

_There you go, your disgusting deviant mind again._

He refocused his attentions on her, watching her inky fingers and the little tip of her pink tongue as she worked to put together his little essay. Even more curious, he approached her, watching every bit of what she did.

She noticed. “So, little one, what drives you to write such material?”

Finn sucked on his lips for a moment and didn't answer. He couldn't even meet her eyes when she looked at him. She was too handsome. How could he be expected to be able to peer at her visage straight on? It was as though he were looking at the sun for she shone so brightly. He jumped when she spoke again.

“You needn't answer. It was just a bit of pondering. You can imagine I...don't get requests like this very often.”

There were mostly books about, stacks of them and carts of them moving here and there while the printer whirred nearby, its massive functions cutting and folding pages and pages. He stood near to her, knowing well what might happen to a boy should his sleeve or any other bit of him get caught in the machinery. She smelled good. Like ink and paper and Alpha, spicy and enduring. Her hair was braided around her head and every so often she looked up at him out of the corner of her eye as if making sure he was still there.

“I mostly make things by request, though never anything so small and so...adamant. An interesting ideology and one I'm sure most of England would agree with, no doubt. How...” she furrowed her brows and seemed to pick her way through words carefully. “How novel for you to have found me somehow. How did you say you had?”

He timidly shook his head. “I...I didn't, Miss Blackwell. It was merely word of mouth. Someone mentioned that there was a print shop here and so I...I came. I hadn't known that it was _you._ ”

He suddenly wondered if Lark Bonovich knew. Surely he wouldn't have sent Finn there to expose him, vulnerable and alone, to Honor Blackwell, would he? What was there to gain from something like this? Whatever his reasoning, Finn was going to keep that information close to his chest for now. He couldn't have either of these Alphas publicly warring over him when he was far more interested in this venture.

Blackwell's mouth quirked. “Mr. Harborel, may I be frank?”

“Of course...”

“You walked here all alone, risking life and chastity for _this?_ ” She motioned with the little piece of parchment in her fingers. “You have no chaperone and you're dusty and dressed...”

“I did not wish to be recognized.”

She stared at him seriously with a motherly expression that was tugging at the shame in his throat. She didn't like it. She didn't approve of it.

“Please do not judge me, Alpha,” he tried, hot tears in his eyes. “I am trying to do the right thing.”

“Do you think this is worth the risk?”

“If it can save even one child, then yes. I do.”

Her head tilted as she examined him. He watched her look at him from the side of his vision, unable to fully peer at her or he would break down into tears. “Is this what you meant when you told me that it was an ordeal to be known? You have a very strong connection in your mind between whatever it is this Librarian does and children. Why is this?”

“It is not obvious?” A pain began in his chest as doubt suddenly flooded him. He could be _wrong._ These things harmed families. Erotic materials tore men away from their wives and drew them in toward disturbing fantasies which then led them to...to...! Finn chewed at his bottom lip. “It all leads to the same result. I have written about it. You are setting the type yourself. It is moral degeneracy. It will degrade everything we know to be right.”

Blackwell seemed to blink, as though waking up from a dream. “Right...yes. Morals. Of course.” She finished up putting together the type and then, when it was ready, ran a test of the print. It seemed much more work than it was worth to Finn as he watched her fiddle around with this and that before she finally turned on the press and let the little pamphlet get cut and folded at the end. It whirred so quickly that it wasn't long before she turned it off and the last of them were finished up, folded and small at the end. “Well,” she sighed. “Your morals, little Mr. Harborel.” She reached down and picked one up from the receptacle that caught them all at the end of the press and examined it, careful not to get the fresh ink on her already-ink-stained fingertips.

He gave her a small bow. “I don't know how I can thank you, Miss Blackwell.”

“I do,” she stated easily, her casual stance easy and disarming.

“You do?”

“Yes. Let me take you for a ride tomorrow. About the park.”

Finn's heart was suddenly in his throat and he lifted his hand to his chest, mortified. “Alpha, you cannot...”

“I can request, you may always deny.”

“But I have no choice...”

“You always have a choice with me, Mr. Harborel. Your choice here is that I can personally deliver these little _morals_ to your home, discreetly of course, or I can have them sent by courier. I cannot guarantee the discretion of the courier but I can always do my very best to try.”

_Oh dear,_ he thought, _I had not thought of how to get them home..._

“I can see that this is going to be difficult for you. How did you think to distribute them, little one?”

“I...I don't quite know.” He felt a flush fill his cheeks as the Betas and the single Omega worked around him, likely listening into their conversation and thinking him rather the little idiot. “I supposed that I thought that maybe I would...uhm...well...”

She stared at him blankly. “I will make you a deal, little one. I will hang onto these and when you've decided upon a distribution method to your liking, I will do whatever you wish to have that fulfilled. Is that alright?”

“Do you normally...?”

“I leave distribution up to the buyer usually, I am merely a printer, little one. Now. I suppose that means you wish I would leave you very much alone and that you would not like to be taken for a ride tomorrow afternoon?”

Finn's eyes found her black-smudged fingertips and he imagined how they might leave faint streaks on the milk white of his thighs. He thought about all the naughty things that he imagined she might do to him and then he reminded himself that there was very little she was likely to agree with when it came to his fantasies. After all, she _did_ just print his moral rejection of sexual materials, didn't she? “I find myself very unlikely to come to terms with certain aspects of a...a mateship, Miss Blackwell. I'm sure you understand from simply the material that you've just printed.”

“I'm sure I don't,” she replied. “Plenty of men who regard erotic novels, photographs and paintings as debased and immoral are very happily mated. Or...” she seemed to think again. “Perhaps it is not _happy_ per se, but there must be some contentment within it, one would assume.”

He chewed his lip again, shifting about before he noticed that at the very least there was one boy staring at him. The Omega. He felt his flush grow deeper. “I...I do need to repay you, Miss Blackwell. And I suppose a ride in the park would not be such an imposition...”

“Fantastic,” she provided with an easy smile which had around the same effect on him as anything else she did—that of utter undefined horror. What if she liked him? What if she wanted him? What if she held him down? What if she— “I'll pick you up around three o'clock. And of course I shall give you a ride home today...without me of course. You will have to tell the driver where to leave you...I'm certain your aunt will not be at all thrilled of your antics.”

“She is out, Alpha...for the evening.”

“She is out? Well then I suppose I can tell the driver to let you out at the front door instead of the back.” She chuckled, the sound low and feminine and far too attractive.

“I...I am nervous, Miss Blackwell, surely you could accompany me?”

The Alpha drew up with surprise. “Omega, it would be entirely improper. You know this.”

Before he could reply, a soft and mild little voice came to them. The Omega who had been watching their exchange. “Pardon me, Miss Blackwell, but you could surely go with him...he is properly disguised, after all. If his aunt is out and you are discreet, you might simply stay in the coach and the servants need not see you.”

The Alpha frowned at the boy. “Charlie, you know how society works, I cannot simply—”

“He wants you to, doesn't he?” The Omega, Charlie, looked at him directly. “Isn't that right? You want her to come with you so that you won't have to trust the driver alone? That's reasonable, isn't it?”

Blackwell gave a great sigh and a roll of her dark eyes before she finally relented. Before they left together, she made certain that he had the original hand written copy of his essay and then one of her printed ones, tucked safe in his pocket. She pulled on a pair of white kid gloves and then held her hand out to him when she drew him outside into the chilly afternoon air. He couldn't stop thinking about the warmth of her hand through her glove when he held his fingers close to his chest while in the coach with her, letting her scent waft around him pleasantly. Of all the Alphas who had ever touched him, he could not think of one he would like to touch him again—until now.

“Miss Blackwell?” He was suddenly acutely aware that he was very alone with her though he did not at all feel in danger.

_It is the little things._

“Yes, Mr. Harborel?”

He tried to look up at her but when he saw that she was looking at him, he cast his eyes down again. “L-last time we were together alone you called me—”

“Finn.” Her voice was so soft and light.

_How could you touch me when I am so disgusting? How could I let you touch my hand when it has touched so many horrible things? Miss Blackwell, please do not look at me like this. Please do not reach for this hand which has curved around my own uncle's cock to help guide it inside—!_

“Omega,” she tried again, imploringly. “You're upset.”

“I owe you...”

She sighed. “Finn, I have told you. I am not going to hold you to it. I do not have to ride with you in the park, it was a silly suggestion and it was wrong of me to hold that over your head. Forgive me.”

He swallowed. “Is this to say that you've changed your mind?”

“I'm apologizing because I realized that it was wrong of me to use my privilege in such a manner. If you would like to ride with me in the park, I would like it to be of your own free will and not the result of your thoughts about owing me anything. I've realized I made a mistake. In fact, I feel as though I've made a great many mistakes with you, Finn. I should not have offered to tease you, I should not have been as familiar as I have been...you see, it is only that your sister—”

“What about Pearl?” he asked suddenly, his heart thudding hard.

Blackwell's brows quirked. “Your sister...is more...oh...” She seemed to search for words. “Well she is more _candid_ about her feelings than you are, I should say. And it is no fault of your own, it is only that she has a very vibrant manner to her though it is hidden beneath a bit of gauze and lace.”

“What do you mean by that?”

The Alpha licked her lips, her tongue drawing Finn's full attention. “I think what I mean by all this is that I know you have it in you, too. To be vivacious and giving. But you are so guarded...far more so than she.”

His heart was still pounding but he felt a little more at ease from this reply. “I do not have it in me.”

“Surely you cannot believe that of yourself.”

“I do not _believe_ it, Alpha. I _know_ it. I want to go for a ride with you in the park tomorrow afternoon. But I cannot hope that you would ever want to court a boy like me.”

“And what sort of boy are you, Finn?”

_A broken one. A degraded one. A ruined one._

He took a deep breath in. “I am very dull, Alpha.”

Blackwell's inkwell eyes sharpened on him, suddenly somehow capturing him and holding him there in her stare. “I don't believe you, Finn. I think still waters run very, very deep.” There was something she seemed to wish to say further but the coach rolled to a stop then, and the driver came to open the door. Those few seconds where he was left in the silence with her were excruciating, the air between them spicy and vibrant with the life of their scents mingled and pleasant. He wanted to reach out to her. He wanted to stop time. He wanted to tell her everything. Just blurt it out. He wanted this tall, beautiful woman to take him into her arms and just hold him. Hold him.

_Hold me. Tell me everything is going to be alright. Just...hold me._

The door opened and he was let out by the driver.

“I'll see you tomorrow, little one,” Blackwell told him through the door before it was closed and he was left to walk up the steps alone. He let himself inside and found Pearl sitting in the drawing room, a book in her lap as her feet were curled beneath her. Look at her, he felt as though he had been run down by a lorry for how tired he was and how worn out. He didn't say anything to her even when she looked up at him with a curious expression. He was still thinking about Miss Blackwell coming to see him on the morrow. _I think still waters run very, very deep._

Finn dragged his feet upstairs and shed all of his clothes before he climbed into his bed. He slept through supper. Some time in the night, he woke and masturbated, his face in the pillow to stifle his moans. When he was finished, he was tired again and he slept more, his dreams dark and bizarre.

_Still waters. Still waters. Very, very deep..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Finn you are in trouble.


	8. Chapter 8

All Finn had to do was make it through one afternoon in the park and then accompany his aunt and Pearl to a little soiree where he was told there would be plenty of Omegas to shield him from the attentions of the Alphas. He thought he was just about as nervous about Blackwell as he was about the fete though when he thought about the latter, his heart did not do as many leaps and whirls. He came down to breakfast that morning with everything weighing rather heavily on his mind, his cowlick fanned about without anything to be done for it and his cravat messily tied.

“Oh Finn,” Aunt Janet sighed, coming to him as he moved toward the sideboard to fuss about with his appearance. “I do hope there are enough hours in the day to get you presentable for this evening.”

“Nevermind this evening,” he grumbled. “I've told Miss Blackwell that I would ride with her in the park this afternoon...”

“ _This afternoon?_ ” she replied with a gasp. “Well there just isn't enough time, you're hardly fit to be seen from the road, darling. When did you promise this?”

Static began to flood into his hands. “Um...I um...well it...it was only...a little while ago, I must have for-forgotten to tell you...I-I'm so sorry...”

“Phineas,” she breathed hotly. “It is going to take a miracle to get you presentable.” She raised her head and called for her personal maid, Eva, and bid her to take him upstairs and get him presentable.

“But Aunt Janet, I've not eaten...”

“You've no time. You may have a scone when you're upstairs. Eva, make certain he's not going to faint, some tea for him along with that scone please.”

“B-But—” he was not to be humored. Finn was hurried upstairs where he was dressed all over again in a nice set of clothes suitable for an open ride in the chilly air and his hair was convinced to at least somewhat lay properly. It wouldn't last for very long but it was a noble effort, he thought. He wished Pearl were sitting in through the process with him but it seemed that she had somewhere else she had to be and when he was finally permitted downstairs, he discovered where that was—entertaining Miss Blackwell who had come to call sometime while he was being primped.

The Alpha stood when he entered the room and gave him a polite bow. “Good afternoon, Mr. Harborel. Your sister has been regaling me with tales of your youth together in the rolling hills of your Aunt's country home. How lovely it must have been to spend so much time out of doors there.”

He swallowed thickly. “Yes. It was.”

Pearl eased herself to lean enough to look at him. “Be sure to tell Miss Blackwell about our childish adventures in the forest. I daresay she might like our fantasies of dragons and fairies.”

Aunt Janet scoffed but said nothing to refute this while she stood in order to accompany them in their ride around the park.

It was chilly but he was covered in a blanket and Miss Blackwell didn't seem at all fazed by the weather, her face still a golden hue and her body giving out plenty of heat. She had a wool covering over her legs but did not seem to need it and not a single bit of her betrayed that she might find it chilly in the least. Her hair was swept back from her face and pulled up fashionably though Finn had to admit he almost preferred it the way she had pinned it in braids when she was working in her print shop.

 _Oh my god,_ he thought as he looked at her, _her print shop...gods, I have to find out how to get those!_

“How was your morning, Mr. Harborel?” she asked, taking him off guard.

“It...” He sighed. “It was pleasant. I do not much enjoy being trapped inside all of the time. I much prefer the country.”

“Ah yes, in the forest.”

“There are a few walking trails that Pearl and I used to explore when we were young.”

“To find fairies?”

He could have shrugged but his aunt would have been very displeased. “I cannot recall.”

She nodded, her smile small. “It is not so uncommon to search for fairies or unicorns. Though I think if they were to find any of us as we sought them, we might have regretted the temptation. I know of only one family that I could say with certainty might have been touched by the fey.”

Finn peered up into her dark eyes with curiosity.

“The Idlewinds. Think of just their name—surely that is a family that has known magic.”

Aunt Janet's mouth curved with bemusement. “How fanciful. I hadn't thought you a fanciful Alpha, Miss Blackwell.”

“Ah,” she chuckled, “it is a mistake more than a few have made. I have a very active imagination and I love stories.”

“And books...” Finn replied quietly.

She was still smiling warmly and it was putting butterflies in his guts. “Yes. I love books. I love them so much I think I could not bear to be without them for a moment. I always have one with me in my coat. For how else could a person survive all the lost time we have in our lives? Waiting in line or bored at a party? Why...reading is such a joy to the heart.”

Aunt Janet spoke then, peering at Finn with shining eyes. “How wonderful. Phineas is always in someone's library poking around. The boy adores novels and spends so much of his free time and even some time that is _not_ free hidden away in the stacks. Why, I daresay he must be quite the dreamer for all the wool he gathers.”

He wished he could have shushed her. He didn't spend time in libraries to read _novels_. He wanted to glower at her and to hiss at her and to get her to leave him alone about it. Novels—how terrible a thought it was for him to think that he might be taken in by fancy in ways that he did not wish to be! He was already overcome by his fantasies, he couldn't bear to allow anyone else's in. That's how he got into all this trouble in the first place. Someone else reached into his brain and poked and prodded and made him do all those nasty things. Someone disturbed and depraved made those wretched, horrible novels!

Miss Blackwell took pity on him for perhaps she could smell his unease. “I do not think I should like to pry into what the Omegas like to read. It is like a discovery of sorts, a blooming. I shan't ask for what makes the heart tick for it lessens the effect when I am able to do it myself.”

His aunt tittered a bit, flushing at the Alpha's daring.

Still, those dark eyes fell upon him and Blackwell mused. “Tell me, Mr. Harborel, that should you ever wish for a book you might tell me so that I may bestow it upon you. Anything. Anything you wish. You need only ask.”

He licked his lips, trying not to look at her. “I think, Alpha, that should defeat the purpose of your intent not to ask me of my interests. Surely it is a trick...to learn by subterfuge.”

“Ah, but then it would be your choice. You see, it is not my place to ask, it is my place to be gifted with such knowledge from your own lips. I cannot know you by asking. An Alpha cannot know any Omega by asking—for you are obliged to answer and thus with such pressure upon your shoulders you may be inclined to soften the reply. In this, I must be patient. I must learn by other means. One cannot force a bud to open and bare its petals, it does so on its own time. Even if that time is an eternity, the beauty within is worth the wait.” She was teasing him now just a little—a subtle apology for having asked him to go with her on this ride.

Finn, despite everything screaming at him in his mind to resist, was charmed. “You are too kind, Alpha. Some Omegas would prefer a firmer hand.”

“Some. But they are not the ones who gather my attentions.”

“Ah,” he replied, his cheeks pinking. “You are a such an honest Alpha and you seem to know me so well despite that we have hardly spoken.”

“It is all your scent.”

“Would that I could have such an ability as to know someone from only just that.”

She was grinning. “It is easier to read sweetness than fire, if I must be honest.”

“You do not smell like fire,” he replied, taking care not to glance at his chaperone for his aunt must surely find discussing someone's scent to be beyond acceptability. “You smell like...incense...and cool autumn mornings where the dew drips down from orange and yellow leaves onto crisp grasses.”

Blackwell's grin softened into a warm smile as she regarded him.

He cleared his throat and finally looked at her, met her eyes. He couldn't help his heart from stumbling and his cock from hardening. God, he wanted her to look at him like that anywhere but here. He wanted to be tucked away in a warm library or his bedroom with those eyes upon him. He wanted to be nipped and nuzzled, he wanted to have his clothes torn off of him so that she could press her face down onto the softness of his pale stomach. He wanted to feel her possession. He wanted to know that he was owned by her. He wanted her to use him and he wanted that warm expression to be all he could think about when she did it. He wanted her to—

He felt flustered at his thoughts, sure that he was red from his ears to his toes. He had completely forgotten that it was chilly outside and instead felt rather hot in his nervous arousal.

“Well,” Aunt Janet interrupted, clearly able to scent Finn's growing attraction, “This is such a lovely morning for a ride but I am getting a bit chilled, perhaps we can move this conversation to a warm parlor. Alpha? Would you like some tea?”

She was hesitant to move her eyes away from Finn's. “Of course. I should love some tea.”

“Good.”

Of all the Alphas he had to come across and be attracted to, he had to become enamored by this one? He thought to himself that he was very much the fool for it. Still, he could hardly place any blame upon himself. She was devastatingly handsome.

There was so much he wished he could say to her. So much that he wished he could do. He felt as though he had squandered so much time with her when they had ridden together in the carriage alone. He wanted to tell her everything. But then, he thought, he had also wanted to tell Lark Bonovich everything. He wanted to be seen. Heard. Known...but it was a terrible ordeal to be known.

_Oh god, why must she be so perfect? Why must she set my fantasies aflame? Why must she tease with the prospect of getting me any book I could ever want? What if I were to ask her for something awful? What if I should test her? What if I should ask her for something that she ought not give me?_

He wilted a bit as they sat in the parlor for tea and lost interest in the conversation which had turned to his family. He was tired of hearing his aunt explain their many cousins in the country, as they were all rather provincial and his ties to the upper class were so limited. It could not seem favorable to Miss Blackwell but if that were the case, she did not show it openly. How much could she fault him, after all, for his family's lack of connections?

“Phineas,” his aunt chided, capturing his attention again, “You've hardly touched your tea.”

He sipped it, finding it lukewarm. “I'm sorry. I am only a little tired.”

Blackwell finished hers and set it down on the tray. “I've kept you overlong. I must go, anyway, so that we may all find ourselves refreshed for dinner tonight. You are going, are you not?”

“Pearl and I have been invited,” he supplied. “It would be folly not to attend...”

“Ah yes, invited by Henrietta Bonovich, how could you reject it. And Lady Halwill has also chosen to attend. You will love Lady Halwill, she is like another mother to me. I will be sure to have her favor you, I could not accept less.”

Aunt Janet perked. “How kind of you, Alpha...”

“It is the least I can do,” she replied easily, standing to go and flashing a tiny wink toward Finn while Aunt Janet wasn't looking, the act sending his heart fluttering into his throat.

_You cheeky bounder._

He was too overwhelmed to process exactly what his mind was spinning through. She knew about him. She knew about his oddness—how he wanted to purge London of the predators that produced filthy depravity and yet still she pursued him. She was not at all put off by any of his coolness toward her or the mannerisms that normally held Alpha attentions at bay. She paid him no mind and merely pressed on gently. So gently.

He imagined how she might press on if she found him alone. If he wanted her. If he let her corner him in a dark, warm parlor in the evening hours. When she was gone, he excused himself, hiding in his room for a little while to rest before he would have to get prepared for that evening. He wanted to be alone with this fantasy.

It was not to be. There was a knock upon his door and Pearl entered, her hair in a braid down over her shoulder and her feet bare like some woodland nymph. Her voice was soft. “Please tell me that this scent of yours means you will consider her.”

“Do not be crude,” he replied.

“She has you all tied up in knots, Finn. I take it your ride with her went well. Has she won your heart yet?”

“Pearl...”

Her voice was suddenly serious though still very soft. “Finn, I know what you do.”

Panic began to overtake him.

“Your writings. I know about them. I've seen some of the ones you've thrown away.”

Some of it was tempered by this. Gods, if she had known about all the times he'd fantasized...he would simply die. It was only his writings. It was only the things he sought to rid from humanity.

_From myself._

He didn't reply.

“You're talented, Finn. You have a way with words. But I fear that your focus will lead you away from what could be your happiness. How could you embrace healing and divine touch if you will not allow it in?” She waited but he still did not reply. “Finn, I love you. I want you to find happiness. I don't want you to think that she will reject you or harm you. She is a noble Alpha and a fine woman. She will treat you like a little prince. Do not squander her...she will only wait so long.”

“What I do,” he began, “is larger than my selfish wants. It serves to protect children.”

“Oh Finn...” she tried, tear in her voice, “you do not know what protects children. You know only of yourself.”

“And you,” he told her, looking at her where she stood near the door. “I know of you. What happened to you and I. It's happening to other children, Pearl. It's happening to them and it will destroy them like it's destroyed us.”

Pearl was quiet, her eyes boring into him. “Nothing can destroy me, Finn. I am beyond destruction. And there is no man or woman alive who could destroy you save one and I look upon him right now.”

He could feel his body shaking as he sat upon the edge of his bed, tears escaping his eyes and trailing down his cheeks. “You are wrong. I am already the silt at the mouth of the river. Reduced to the finest particles. I have been more than destroyed. I have been washed completely from the earth. There is nothing left of me but this—to be a delta which must somehow prevent the monsters of the sea from passage to their victims.”

“You know then that the river is not the monster?”

He couldn't speak.

“The river has no allegiance, Finn. Would you dry it up? Would you make it flood? Would you destroy in your quest to save?”

His heart felt tight. “You don't understand.”

“No,” she told him. “I don't.” And then she was gone and he was left staring at the closed door with none of his prior warmth within and nothing but coldness creeping over his flesh. And so, as evening grew closer and light from his windows dimmed, he sat alone, feeling the churning waters of his emotions rising.

_Would you dry it up? Would you make it flood?_

He wiped at his eyes.

_I cannot let this happen, Pearl. One day, please God, will you let her understand?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking so long. I've been horrifically depressed. Pray for my therapist, I'm going to have to explain Omegaverse to her.


End file.
